


What's The Speed of Dark?

by TheVagabondBoy



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Aftermath of Child Abuse, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Bad break-up, Barry is a criminal, Barry is a fucking liar, Barry is an angry baby, Blow Jobs, But it sure as hell aint love fucking, Cars, Charming Barry, Child Abuse, Classic Cars, Come Swallowing, Court, Don't Worry About It, Fast Cars, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Flirting, Grief/Mourning, Hate, Heavy Angst, Henry killed Nora, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Bad At Titles, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Its not really hate fucking, Just Sex, Legal Innacuracies, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Medical Professionals, Mick is also an angry baby, No Strings Attached, Office Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Poor Barry, Post-Break Up, Rating May Change, Restraints, Sneaking Out, Tags May Change, Trials, Vomiting, Warnings May Change, Work In Progress, dark!Barry, title may change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 47,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVagabondBoy/pseuds/TheVagabondBoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay, so what's the speed of dark?"<br/>- Steven Wright</p><p>Barry had about...twenty-five years left on his sentence when an offer was put in front of him. If he refused it, he would spend those years in a concrete box. If he took it though...well, Barry didn't give a shit what happened, as long as it got him out of his cell.</p><p>**ON HIATUS, DUE TO WRITERS BLOCK, SORRY**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Barry counted himself lucky.

He was one of few in the block that had a solo cell. He had a prime piece of real-estate on his hands; six by eight feet on the second floor. People would literally kill for it, and a few had actually tried. In that place, everyone wanted every shred of privacy that they could get their hands on. Only thing better for that than a single bunk cell, was solitary. Barry had been in there for long enough to make friends with a few guards. They had pulled some strings on his behalf and gotten him moved to his new digs some months ago. Or was it years? In Iron Heights, every day followed a strict routine. After just a few weeks, they had started melting together until they couldn’t be told apart. If he asked the guards, he had been in there for four years. If he asked himself, it had been a century. Maybe more.

There was more he thanked God for. Like the fact that the Judge hadn’t been as much of a bastard as he had expected, and granted Barry’s single wish: to be placed in any cell block but B. She had probably expected the plea as soon as she heard his name. Barry’s father (not that he deserved to call himself a father) was placed in B. The moment Barry had lain eyes on him, he would have killed him, and the Judge knew it. The whole city, the country, knew how much Barry hated Henry Allen. Barry had never hidden it. From the moment he watched his father plunge a kitchen knife into Nora’s chest, _over and over and over_ , Barry had hated Henry with every fiber of his being. Though Barry had gladly ended Henry’s life, he thought it was better if he didn’t. Not only could Barry serve his sentence in peace, but Henry could also live a long and healthy life in a concrete closet similar to Barry’s own. Henry would die in that prison, and all he would have to blame would be himself and time.

As for who Barry had to blame? He too could blame no one but himself. Henry hadn’t made life easy for him, not ever, not even before killing Nora. Yes, to the whole world, they were the perfect family; a doctor and a nurse, and their little genius of a son? They were as American Dream as could be, and now it just made Barry sick to think about it because behind closed doors…they were anything but perfect. Henry started drinking before Barry was even born, and he beat on them both. Nora tried her hardest, but if Henry hadn’t killed her, the painkillers she tossed back like mints probably would have in the end.

But Barry came out of it with good still left in him, he would like to think. He could have taken all those horrible things and made himself better than them, than Henry. Instead, he had become intimately familiar with the backseat of pretty much every cop car in Central City and he knew the juvenile correctional facility outside Keystone like the back of his hand. He damn well better should, he had spent the majority of his teens there after all. After he was released on his eighteenth birthday, Barry had just fallen deeper into the pit of criminality and it had landed him where he was now; a cell at Iron Heights.

How’s that for full circle?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a fuckin slut for playlists, so i made one for this fic  
> its on spotify, and you can find and follow it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/backinblack97/playlist/6wFkUJxfR7X34uv06erlna)


	2. Chapter 2

“Got any eights?”

Barry scanned through his hand of cards.

“Go fish.” he said and chuckled at the annoyed look on Sean’s face.

Sean was another con in the block, and probably Barry’s only friend in there, Well, friend enough for a daily game of cards. He was sixty years old and had served twenty years in a life sentence. He too just wanted some damn peace and quiet, so he and Barry had gotten along pretty much instantly.

“Got any sixes?” Barry asked.

“Dammit, kid.” the old man huffed as he handed over a card.

One of the main reasons Barry enjoyed Sean’s company was that he didn’t ask any questions. He never asked about Barry’s life before prison. He stayed in his own lane, so to speak. Barry was glad for it. If he was going to spend another twenty-five years in there, the last thing he wanted to do was talk, or even think, about how he got there.

“Visiting hours!” a guard announced over the loudspeakers mounted around the block. “The following prisoners will report for visitations. John Casey, Harry Attley, Vincent Rodriguez, Oliver Birch, Peter Jones, and Barry Bolt. Get movin’, cons!”

What? Barry had a visitor? In four and a half years, Barry hadn’t had a single visitor, unless you counted reporters and even they called to announce themselves beforehand. This was highly irregular.

“Rain check?” Barry said.

“Sure thing, kid.” Sean said, already gathering up the deck. “Since when d’you get visitors?”

Barry shrugged handing over his cards. “Probably some rookie reporter lookin’ to get a scoop.” he huffed.

Still, Barry got up and headed out of Sean’s cell. If it got him out of the block, he didn’t care who his visitor was. He lined up with the other cons, and they were herded out.

*

Who the hell was there to see him? The other cons had been lead out to the usual visiting area, but Barry had been taken elsewhere. He was lead to the private rooms where meetings with lawyers usually happened. Barry hadn’t talked to his public defender since after his last appeal fell through. Why would that asshole be back there now? Barry sure as hell hadn’t called him. Maybe there was new evidence in his case, new information? Something to warrant a new appeal? Barry doubted it. Unless someone had turned state’s evidence, it was unlikely that his case had become relevant again. It circled back to the same question. Who was there to see him? Whoever they were, they had to be important if they were granted a private meeting.

The door opened inwards and the guard gave Barry a small push to get him walking. Barry did as he was wordlessly ordered, but his mind was focused on his visitors.

Two men.

One was young, thin as a stick and pale as a sheet, eyes sharp and ice blue. They were fixed on Barry from the moment the door opened. He looked…quietly intrigued. His hands were clasped tightly on the table he sat behind.

The second man was one Barry knew quite well, he would like to think. Mick Rory, US Marshal. Surly as ever, glaring daggers at Barry from where he stood leaning against the wall. Here he was, the asshole responsible for Barry’s arrest.

“Micky!” Barry said, sunshine smiles as always when Mick was around because he knew it annoyed the cop. “How’s it hangin’, my man?”

Micks glare hardened, if that was even possible.

“I will shoot you.” he said flatly.

Barry mock moaned as the guard undid his cuffs. “I love it when you talk dirty, Mick.” he said, patting the guard on the back as he exited.

Barry dropped into the second chair at the table, across from the younger man.

“Hey there.” he said, smiling still.

“Don’t flirt with him, Bolt.” Mick ordered.

“What?” Barry said, scandalized at the implication. “I was saying hi!”

“That’s flirting for you.” Mick said.

Barry was going to argue, but shrugged instead. “You got me there, Mickymoo.” he hummed.

He noted how the second visitor struggled to contain his smile.

“So. What the hell d’you want?” Barry asked.

He had to admit, he was a little curious. Mick had pretty much sworn never to see him again. _Ever_. Mick kind of hated him. _A lot_. Barry was certain he had never actually seen the Marshal smile as wide as he had when Barry had been taken away after the trial.

“Oh, I don’t want nothing to do with you, kid.” Mick huffed, but nodded at his ‘companion’. “He dragged me down here.”

Barry hummed and turned his eyes to the as of yet unnamed visitor.

“The fuck you want?” he asked.

The man cleared his throat. He leaned down and picked up the bag that had been sitting on the floor beside him. He dug around in it for a moment before being able to take out a thin blue folder, which he lay on the table in front of Barry.

“I am Doctor Leonard Snart.” the man said as he dropped his bag onto the floor again.

Barry scoffed. _“Snart?”_ he repeated with a disbelieving smirk. “Wow, that’s sexy.”

Snart cleared his throat again, ignoring the comment. “I work at a place called S.T.A.R Labs, and I’m currently in the last stages of a very special project.” he continued.

“And?” Barry interrupted. “What the hell does that have to do with me?”

“I…I’m looking for volunteers, test subjects.” Snart explained. “I made a deal with the government so I’m scouting through prisons around the country for healthy and intelligent subjects with little to nothing to lose. Your file stood out.”

Barry hummed to himself. “And what exactly is it you will be testing on me?” he asked.

“If you want to know anything about the project,” Snart said with a short gesture to the blue folder. “-you will have to sign the non-disclosure agreement in the folder. It’s an initial contract. Once you sign it, I’ll be able to tell you more. If you join, you will of course have to sign more extensive contracts.” he explained. “If you don’t join, you will continue your stay in Iron Heights undisturbed. If you were then to breach the non-disclosure agreement, you would spend the rest of your sentence in solitary unless the court finds it prudent to execute you for treason.”

Execution? Well, no one ever said Barry didn’t like to live on the edge. Without hesitation, Barry threw the folder open and was faced with a whole stack of pristine white papers with neat black letters printed on them. He read through the papers quickly.

Blah blah blah, Department of Justice, blah blah blah blah, legal speak for shut your mouth and fucking keep it shut, yada-yada-yada, more legal bullshit, blah blah, sign on the dotted line to surrender yourself to science.

That was basically the jist of it, he supposed. He scanned through the pages, skimming for any mention of what they would actually be doing to him. There was nothing. There was not even the slightest hint at what the man with the sexiest name ever was planning to do to him. But living on the edge, remember? Barry held out his hand to Snart, who quickly fished a pen out of his pocket and handed it over. The convict signed as fast as he could, on every dotted line in the thick document.

 _Barry_ _Bolt_ in a quite neat little scribble without much fuss to it.

He closed the folder and slid it back over to Snart, who gave a grateful little smile.

“So tell me what the hell I just got myself into.” Barry ordered.

 _“Cool it,_ _Bolt_ _.”_ Mick bit, having spectated quietly up until that point, and Barry noted that his hand was resting on the gun that sat on his hip. “I can shoot you whenever I damn well please.”

Snart raised his hand at Mick, something of a calming gesture it seemed. “It’s okay, Mick.” he insisted then turned back to Barry. “It’s an experiment that has been sanctioned by the United States Government. You will undergo six treatments, between which you will be closely studied. During the treatments, you will be injected with a serum that my colleagues and I have developed. The serum is designed to interact with your body on a molecular level.”

Interesting. If he was going to be _‘closely studied’,_ they would need to take him out of Iron Heights. They would have to take him back to Central City, to S.T.A.R Labs.

“And what’ll it do to me?” Barry asked.

He was curious to see how much information he could squeeze out of Snart. This project sounded interesting. What kind of serum was Snart talking about? Barry had gladly followed the advancement of science from behind bars; given what he knew, what kind of developments had been made in recent times, this serum could be just about anything. Barry didn’t even dare speculate. Not only was this a chance for him to get out of Iron Heights, even if just short term, but this serum could potentially revolutionize his profession. The entire trade, perhaps. This wasn’t a chance he could pass up.

“I’m sorry, Mister Bolt, I can’t tell you anything more until you’ve signed some more papers.” Snart said with an almost apologetic look on his face. “I can tell you, though, if the project is successful because of your contributions, the Department of Justice has agreed to shorten your sentence.”

What? _Holy hell_ …this just kept getting better and better. Barry leaned forward, unendingly intrigued.

“Shorten how much?” he asked. “Months? Years?”

Snart looked over his shoulder at Mick, who sighed deeply.

“Two years parole, with electric ankle monitoring.” he said flatly and Barry’s jaw actually dropped. “You’d be confined to the six blocks around an apartment the DOJ would provide in Central City. And you’d get paid for services rendered.”

Barry’s whole mind was at a freaking standstill. Two years on parole, an apartment, and _a fucking pay check?_ And all he had to do was act guinea pig for some experiment?

“Where do I sign?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering about Barry's surname, that will be explained a little later but I'm guessing it's pretty easy to understand why he changed it.  
> Also: if you've read my other fic Spook, you will probably notice similarities between that work and this. That is probably because I kinda had this idea while I was writing on Spook. I will try to keep them separate, of course, but yeah..


	3. Chapter 3

He would have gone with them, then and there, and never looked back. Unfortunately, he had to wait until the day after for ‘the paperwork to process’.

_Bullshit._

Barry was 100% certain that they could have gotten him out of there right away if they wanted to. Mick was a _US fucking Marshal!_ One call and he could have bounced Barry _years ago!_ But no! He was a petty little fuck who wanted Barry behind bars for as long as possible, even if it was just for another day.

So the guards dragged Barry back to his cell, which he now despised beyond words. He was so close. Literally just one night away from, slightly restricted, _freedom_! Barry nearly punched the wall of his cell, but stopped himself. The last thing he wanted was getting locked up in the sick wing with a broken hand. If he knew Mick, _which he did_ , he would use it to convince Snart that Barry was an unfit subject; he would spin it as a sign of aggression, or violent tendencies. Anything to make Snart think that Barry was unfit for reintroduction into society, and for the project itself. He’d probably even bring up Barry’s dad just because he knew how much Barry hated to be likened with him, to even be named in the same breath as him.

He choked back the anger, pushed it down and bottled it up. After they got him out, he could find a gym and release the anger on a punching bag. As long as he got a foothold in the project, made himself irreplaceable to them, everything would be fine. Barry grabbed the tennis ball that sat on his desk then sat down on his bed. He threw it against the wall; when he threw it, he inhaled. When he caught it again, he exhaled. It was a stupid trick the shrink at juvie had taught him. Something to help control his anger. But stupid or not, it worked. He could feel himself calming down, little by little. It was just one night. After four and a half years, he could wait one more night.

*

Barry had barely slept. He was nervous. The world had changed a lot in four years, that he knew. He hadn’t exactly bothered to stay up to date on most things since he had, until yesterday, planned to stay in Iron Heights for another twenty-five years. Science was pretty much all he had kept an eye on, since it had been a long standing interest. In a different life, maybe he would have taken the chance when he was a kid and become a scientist himself. If he had, he certainly wouldn’t be sitting in a concrete coffin thinking about what could have been.

Despite how nervous he was, Barry was actually really excited too. It wasn’t a proper release, or even parole, but he would still get to walk out of Iron Heights a, somewhat, free man. Plus, he would get to spend all day, every day with Mick watching his every move. That might not sound particularly appealing, but Barry considered it a second chance. He would have all the opportunity he could ever need to make up for…well, everything. Barry could probably charm Mick into loosening the reins on him, maybe get him a bigger radius on his ankle monitor and a few more zeroes on that pay check.

He couldn’t stop thinking about his reward. If they stuck him with an ankle monitor from the stone ages, which was the norm, Barry could easily slip it. He could be halfway across the globe before anyone even realized he was gone.

Sean seemed a little worried about him at breakfast; Barry didn’t eat. He poked at the slop they dared to call food with a slightly disgusted look on his face. How could he be satisfied with that garbage when in just a few hours he would be free? He was pretty sure the first thing he would do was get his hands on the biggest, greasiest pizza in all of Central City, and a whole six pack of beer to go with it. Then he would probably take a shower. After four and a half years, showering alone was the fucking dream. Then, he would go to sleep in a bed with a mattress that was more than a fucking inch thick.

He didn’t tell Sean that, of course. He lied and said that he was being transferred to a different state. The contracts he had signed made him unable to talk about any of what he was going to be a part of.

*

They came and got him out of his cell just before lunch. Barry had packed up the few possessions he had, just a handful of old photos, and tucked them away into the safety of his pocket. The guards brought him to an area he hadn’t been to since he first arrived: check-ins. Well, it was both check-in and check-out, but so far he had only been checked-in there.

Barry was made to undress, then _thoroughly_ searched before he was allowed to get dresses in normal clothes. It was the same old suit he had worn to his trial and during the transfer to the prison. It was a little tight, he had put on some muscle he supposed, but it fit well enough. He would change as soon as he could anyway. Mick was waiting for him when Barry stepped out from the privacy curtain.

“If only you were headin’ off to trial again…” the Marshal huffed as he waved Barry over.

“Oh, you’re making jokes now?” Barry asked, to which Mick only responded with a smirk. “I’m sorry, I’m a little shocked honestly. I thought the stick up your ass made jokes impossible.”

Mick glared at him. Barry out his foot up on a chair when ordered, and pulled the leg of his slacks up to show his ankle. The guy, a technician, Mick had brought along fixed Barry with, as expected, an ankle monitor from the cretaceous period. A manila envelope was then handed to Barry by a guard; ah, personal affects! Barry dumped everything out onto the table to make sure everything was still there.

Wallet with three dollars in it and every card was expired by now. Keys to several cars, all still impounded, and to an apartment that had probably been sold on several times. A thin silver chain with a cross pendant, his mothers, which he quickly out around his neck. Barry shook the envelope a few times and the last item clinked against the metal table as it fell out. The silver ring that had meant so much to him before. Barry cleared his throat to himself and stuffed it into his pocket instead of putting it on his finger. Mick no doubted noticed that.

Barry was certain he didn’t breathe again until he had walked through the front gates of Iron Heights, hopefully for the last time in his life.

*

Oh, how Barry had missed being in a car! The feeling was still the exact same, despite the fact that he wasn’t in the driver’s seat and that the guy who was doing the driving was a US Marshal.

Barry turned the radio up on full blast, rocking out to songs he had never heard before but that were likely already a few years old. He stole Micks sunglasses, snatching them away from where they hung on the collar of the Marshals t-shirt, and out them on. As Barry lit his first cigarette in nearly five years, he rolled the window down too.

“Punch it!” Barry ordered as he scooted up in his seat, cigarette hanging at the corner of his mouth.

Mick must have had some small measure of sympathy for him, because Barry could actually _feel it_ when they broke the speed limit. He got on his knees in the seat and stuck his head out of the window. The wind rushed past his face, the cold air biting at his cheeks and trying its hardest to pull his cigarette from his mouth. Barry undid his tie, letting it go. He watched it for a moment as it was caught by the wind. He had missed this so fucking much; so much more than he thought he had.

The speed, the wind, the sun on his face, the rush of knowing that id he crashed he would die! That fucking feeling of speeding through life, not knowing when death was coming and living like there was no tomorrow because of it.

Barry felt Mick grab the back of his jacket before he was dragged back into the car.

“C’mon, man!” Barry groaned. “I was feelin’ it!”

“No pay check for either of us if you get your dumb ass killed.” Mick berated as he let off the gas to drop the car back to the speed limit.

 _“Fine.”_ Barry conceded and took a long drag on his cigarette to console himself.

“And no smokin’ in the damn car.” Mick said flatly.

He plucked the cigarette out of Barry’s mouth and tossed it out of the open window, which he then rolled up. Thankfully, Barry didn’t argue, only blowing his lungful of smoke at the Marshal before settling in to sulk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk man I just think I have a massive kink for Barry being a smoker and I dont even know how or why that happened


	4. Chapter 4

Barry had to beg and plead for it, but as they reached the heart of Central City Mick parked the car. He probably did it mostly to shut Barry up, but Barry considered it a win. Barry hadn’t walked the streets of his hometown in a long while.

At first glance, the place didn’t look too different. A few new skyscrapers here and there, but not much else. The closer he looked, though, Barry saw how much Central City had really changed. None of the stores and restaurants Barry remembered were around anymore, replaced by newer and better versions. It was a little unsettling. It felt like someone had scooped up the whole city and put a _slightly_ different replica back in its place; the changes were small but looking at them was unnerving. Barry turned the corner on Main and Fifth, and it was as if he had been transported across the city. The streets…they didn’t lead to where they were supposed to.

Barry needed to think about something else. He turned to Mick, who was walking next to him.

“Does Iris still work at Jitters?” Barry asked

Mick frowned at him. “Iris West?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Barry said softly, burying his hands in his pockets and turning his eyes away.

“Don’t know.” Mick said, shrugging. “Even if she did, would that be a good idea? I mean, you ki-”

“I know what I did!” Barry interrupted, stopping abruptly enough to make Mick do the same. “Okay? _I know_. I fucked up, and people got hurt. And I have spent every moment of the last four and a half years blaming myself for it.” he continued, as Mick only watched him. “I just…I _need_ her to know. How sorry I am. How _badly_ I wanna go back and trade places.”

Barry wanted to yell at Mick, to make him understand that he hadn’t wanted any of what happened. That Barry had never meant for anyone to get hurt.

Mick surrendered, it seemed. He exhaled a long breath and nodded.

“I can call the CCPD.” he offered. “Ask ‘em to find an address. A phone number maybe. Can’t promise nothin’ though.”

Barry nodded quickly. “Thank you, Mick.” he said sincerely. “Really, I mean it. Thank you.”

They looked at each other for a moment, not even noticing how annoyed people looked at them for blocking half the sidewalk. Barry felt compelled to say something. When he said he hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt, he meant _anyone._ Back then…he had been an idiot. A real fucking jackass.

“Look, Mick, I-“

 _“We,_ are not having this conversation.” Mick said bitingly, with a warning finger raised at Barry. “Not now. Not _ever._ You did what you did and _it’s_ _done.”_

Of course it fucking was, Barry thought to himself. He had no right to be hurt. None whatsoever. It was all his fault in the end. No matter how he spun it or tried to explain it, there was no one to blame but Barry Bolt himself.

Mick glanced at his watch. “C’mon.” he said and started walking back in the direction where they had come from, heading back to the car. “We’re gonna be late.”

*

S.T.A.R Labs looked like a fancy place.

Last time he had seen it, it had been a hole in the ground and they hadn’t even poured the foundation yet. Mick had to flash some kind of ID at the gate and called Barry ‘delivery for Doctor Snart.’ Mick walked through the halls of the lab like he owned the place, Barry sticking close to him but scanning every hallway they walked through. If there came a time where he had to make a quick and quirt exit, Barry wanted to know the layout of the place. Didn’t seem too complicated. He would have to get his hands on an employee ID, it didn’t seem as if any doors opened without a card being swiped, nor the elevators. Snart had seemed pretty high up in the ranks. If Barry could charm him enough, get close enough, he could probably lift the good doctors card. He might have to construct a rudimentary card cloner if it came to it, but Barry would consider that a last resort for the time being. Hell, maybe they would give him his very own pass card!

Mick lead Barry into a big round room, with a semi-circular desk placed near the door. Across from it was a wall of monitors that currently only displayed the S.T.A.R Labs logo, spinning slowly on otherwise black screens. Two small rooms, examination rooms, shot off from the circular chamber, with glass walls separating them. Barry was so busy with looking around that he barely noticed the doctor himself coming out of one of the examination rooms.

“Mister Bolt, Marshal Rory.” Snart said as a greeting, which drew Barry’s focus to him. “You’re late.”

“Hey, I been locked up for the last four years.” Barry reminded. “Can you blame me for takin’ a walk through my hometown?”

Snart hummed. It was neither approving nor disapproving, but simply an…acknowledgement.

“In here, Mister Bolt.” Snart said then, gesturing back to the examination room.

Barry did as told, heading into the smaller room. He was surprised when he saw the woman already there. She was quite beautiful, he supposed; not the right plumbing, so to speak, to be his type, but beautiful still. All pale skin and red hair, a white lab coat covering up the light beige dress she wore.

“Mister Bolt,” she said with a polite smile. “-I’m Doctor Caitlin Snow. Please, take off your clothes and have a seat on the table.”

“Woah, slow down, lady, I’m not that kinda gal.” Barry said, smiling brightly. “Gotta buy me dinner first.”

Caitlin laughed lightly at that, as Barry stripped down to his boxers. He hopped up onto the examination bed with the same bright smile on his face, at both the doctors and the Marshal who still stood in the door.

“We’re going to perform an initial physical.” Snart said as-a-matter-of-factly. “Well, Doctor Snow is. We need a baseline of your health and physical condition. Then you’ll be going with our colleague Mister Ramon who will perform a few exams of his own.”

Barry opened his mouth to speak but nearly choked on the thermometer Snow took the opportunity to shove in his mouth.

“Wha’ kin’a eshamsh?” Barry asked around the thermometer, deciding to be a good boy and go along with things.

“Cognitive capabilities, IQ, coordination, stamina.” Snart listed offhandedly. “Again, we need a baseline.”

The thermometer beeped and Snow took it away from him, glancing at its display for a moment before scribbling in the papers laid out on the counter by the wall to Barry’s left.

“And why do you need a baseline?” the subject asked.

“If the serum works on you, we have to have something to compare possible changes to.” Snart explained flatly and looked at his watch. “Doctor Snow, I’m sure you can handle this on your own?”

The woman smiled at him. “Of course, doctor.” she said. “Should I call when we finish up?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Snart responded. “Just send him down to Ramon. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Yes, doctor.” Snow said.

Barry watched curiously as Snart headed out of the examination room. He and Mick exchanged a… _look_ as Snart passed the Marshal in the door. Interesting. So they knew each other. They had to, going by that look. Barry would certainly have to press on that topic a little later. Now, though, he would play nice and hopefully win Snow over to his side. Ramon too, when Barry was passed on to him. If things went sideways with this whole…experiment, whoever was funding it might decide to get rid of him. Snow and Ramon could be useful to him if that were to become the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. Chapter 5

Snow poked and prodded at Barry for nearly an hour, and he was even made to pee in a cup which was just the _highlight_ of his day. Note the bitter hint of sarcasm. When she was done with him, he was handed off to Cisco Ramon. Barry wasn’t particularly fond of him either. He made Barry take a written test, which brought back memories of what little formal schooling he had which was a fucking blast. Again, note the sarcasm. Not to mention the sticky electrodes that were glued to Barry’s head from the moment Ramon got his hands on him. Barry had to answer a bunch of question, run on a treadmill for half an hour, slam a button as fast as he could when a light flashed green and was rudely shocked with electricity if the light happened to be red instead, and a whole bunch of other fun little tests.

He was exhausted when they finally dismissed him. Which only brought up a completely different problem: where the fuck would he be staying? Barry honestly doubted S.T.A.R Labs had hocked up the cash for a hotel room for however long they wanted him with them. He also doubted they would get him an apartment or a house or whatever. So unless they were planning for him to shack up with one of them, Barry was in a spot of bother.

“So where exactly am I staying?” Barry asked as Mick parked the car.

Mick sighed, saying nothing, and got out of the car. Barry followed though. They walked into a quite nice building, it had a doorman and everything. The elevator went up to the fourteenth floor, where Mick stepped out and Barry hurried after. Mick lead him down a long hallway, passing by several doors, then turned left and stopped at the first door on the right, 1424.

“C’mon, man!” Barry said tiredly. “What the hell is this place?”

“My place.” Mick muttered as he unlocked the door.

Woah… _what?_ Mick was…taking Barry back to his place?

“Oh.” was all Barry could manage.

“Yeah, the head of S.T.A.R Labs set me up here. Some rich old geezer.” Mick explained, pushing the door open and stepping inside. “Easier to keep an eye on the test subjects. ‘S nice. If you look past the fact I gotta share it with thieves an’ murderers.”

Barry kept his hands in his pockets as he stepped inside too, the lights turning on as Mick flicked the switch by the door. As the whole place was illuminated, Barry’s eyes widened. Holy hell…this place was amazing. All sleek hardwood floors, and gilded details. It was nice. Mick ushered him through the apartment, giving him a quick tour. Barry’s bedroom far in the back, Micks closer to the door and near the kitchen. Barry’s bedroom had an en suite bathroom, fully equipped with marble floors and bathtubs that could house a fucking family of four. The kitchen was pretty much the same story.

It all looked sickeningly expensive. Barry nearly wanted to throw up. He felt horribly out of place, and Mick looked it too. This wasn’t their scene, either of them.

They came back out to the living room, which doubled as the vestibule. Barry was a little uncertain of what to do now. Was he just supposed to go to bed? Act like nothing had ever happened and they didn’t know each other? Fuck that.

“Mick.” Barry said, watching the Marshal toss his jacket aside and sit down on the big couch in front of the enormous TV. “You know that…conversation we talked about before?”

The Marshals jaw clenched. He was obviously trying to not lash out.

“I think…I think we should have it anyway.” Barry continued.

He didn’t get any further though, before Mick was just _there._ He was right there in front of Barry. Mick could be scary when he wanted to be; Barry dwarfed in comparison to him, he felt as if he was shrinking when Mick backed him up against the wall. Mick placed his hands on the wall on either side of Barry’s head, effectively boxing him in and leaving no escape.

“You wanna have a conversation?” Mick hissed. “Fine, let’s have a damn conversation. Let’s talk about how you lied to me for three years.”

It hurt to hear it being said out loud. It hurt to have Mick say it straight to his face and with so much hate and disdain. Barry didn’t say a word, didn’t make a noise.

“Let’s talk about how you lied to me from the moment I met you.” Mick said. “Let’s talk about how you… _how you made me fucking fall in love with you_. How could you do that? Lie to my face for three years straight?”

“I…”

Barry didn’t even know what to say. He was right. Mick was right. Barry had lied to him. He had lied to Mick for three years, right to his face. Every waken moment they had together was a lie.

“I'm sorry, Mick." he said softly. "I am. Really. I didn’t…I never-“

“Yeah, you never meant for me to find out.” Mick said as if having read Barry’s mind.

 _“But I did!”_ Mick shouted then, hand slamming against the wall. “I did find out! I found out what a piece o’ shit you really are!”

Barry flinched, shrinking even further into himself. It was…awful. But it was just like he had told Mick before; Barry had spent the last four and a half year blaming himself for everything that had gone down, whether it had anything to do with Mick or not. Barry had spent the last four and a half years hating himself.

“I’m sorry, Mick.” he said.

His voice was so soft and so weak, everything he had worked so hard to force out of himself.

“I am. I’m so sorry.” he whispered. “I did care about you. I swear I did, I always did. I loved you, Mick.”

Mick glared at him, but seemed to falter at the mention of love as if it was the deepest possible affront.

“You don’t get to say that.” Mick bit.

“It’s true!” Barry argued. “I lov-“

 _“Shut you goddamn mouth!”_ Mick shouted, slamming his fist against the wall again.

Barry flinched again, away from the sound and the motion and the way the wall vibrated under Micks hand.

 _“You_ , don’t get to say that shit to me, Bolt.” Mick bit. “You don’t get to sweet talk your way outta this one.”

Barry wrenched his eyes away from Micks face. He couldn’t stand to see all that hate in his eyes; those eyes that had, at one point in time, made Barry’s insides twist and curl with how good it felt to have them on him. His eyes fell to Micks chest, anything just to get away from his eyes, and spotted…a thin silver ring, threaded with a chain that hung around Micks neck, hidden under his shirt at all other times.

“The ring…” Barry choked out.

He wanted to reach out and touch it; the ring or Micks chest, either would be good.

“You kept it.”

Micks chest seemed to rumble with a growl. “’Course I fuckin’ kept it. Reminder not to trust a fuckin’ low life like you ever again.” he said.

Hearing him talk about their relationship like that was…it was painful. Barry had been, and he supposed he still was, a criminal. Falling ass over titts for a US Marshal hadn’t exactly been the game plan, but Mick had just…he had put a spell on Barry. Barry had lied from the moment he saw that star glistening on Micks belt and he never stopped. He just kept spitting lies in Micks face to keep him from leaving. Then it all blew up in his face; Mick arrested him and _gladly_ testified at the trial. Barry had ruined his career too, with his little _stunt._ A Marshal who couldn’t even tell that his own fucking fiancé was a criminal? Yeah, lots of demand in the market for that shit. Barry was honestly a little surprised Mick still had a star to call his own.

Barry wanted to argue with him, but…Mick had always been able to overpower him. Mick grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and dragged him over to the bedroom Barry had been given. He practically tossed Barry inside and glared at him for a moment.

“Go the fuck to bed.” Mick ordered. “Try anythin’ and _I swear to God,_ I will kill you.”

The door slammed behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Eight years ago…

 

_Mick hoped the shop was open. A friend had told him about the place, but neglected to share its hours. It was Micks first day off in a long while so he had figured he might as well go check it out since he didn’t really have much else to do. Even if it wasn’t open, they had to have their hours posted somewhere, right? And it wasn’t like it was a major problem he was dealing with, meaning it could wait a while longer if necessary. He had been in a minor car chase about a month back and had had to force his target off the road. The end result was a big dent on the front of Micks car, and a long scrape in the paint along the left side. He was quite lucky it had happened in the line of duty since the repairs would be billable._

_The place looked pretty shut down when Mick turned onto the lot, on the outskirts of the city. The line-up of garage ports was all closed and locked, and the lights in the windows of what looked like the office were off too. Mick would have turned right back around if it hadn’t been for the loud music he could hear coming from inside. He parked his car in front of the garage, banging his fist on one of the ports after getting out. For a minute, he nearly thought whoever was inside had ignored him, then a regular sized door at the end of the line of ports opened and a young man stuck his head out._

_“Sorry, man!” the mechanic called at Mick, who was already heading over to meet him. “Not takin’ on new customers today. We’re a little backed up.”_

_Mick nodded. “A’right. Any idea when I can come back?” he asked._

_The kid,_ because come on, he was, like, mid-twenties at the most, _stepped out onto the dirt, closing the door behind him._

_“A week, at least.” he said. “Depends on what you want done, really. If it’s quick, I could hook you up in a couple days maybe.”_

_“Yeah, I just got a couple dents need straightenin’ out.” Mick explained, gesturing for the mechanic to follow. “Some new paint too.”_

_The mechanic hummed as they rounded the silvery car, but whistled lowly to himself when he spotted the damage._

_“Jesus, man.” he said with a joking smirk. “What d’you do? Run someone off the road?”_

_Mick had to chuckle at that because it was actually exactly what had happened. He put his hands on his hips, and looked down at the big dent that made it look as if the fender of his car was about to collapse in on itself._

_“Kinda, yeah.” he said._

_The mechanic looked surprised for a moment before his eyes were drawn to the glint on Micks belt. The realization seemed to dawn on him when he recognized the silver star._

_“Holy shit, man, you’re a Marshal?” the mechanic huffed._

_Mick nodded again, offering his hand to the mechanic. “Marshal Mick Rory, at your service.” he said with a proud smile._

_“Mechanic Barry Bolt, at your service.” he mimicked as he shook the Marshal hand. “But I gotta warn ya. I got a record.”_

_Mick hummed, hands at his hips again. “You served your time?” he asked._

_“Yessir.” Barry responded with a nod._

_“And you’re keepin’ away from that shit now?” Mick asked._

_“Yessir.” Barry said again. “I run the shop, tryin’ to stay away from old mistakes.”_

_Mick smiled again. “Then that’s good enough for me.” he said. “I got my second chance when I joined the army. Why shouldn’t everyone else get one too?”_

_Barry chuckled lowly, nodding to himself. “If only the rest of the city had the same idea.” he said. “Only place that’d take me on was this one,” he explained with a gesture to the garage. “-and even then it’s just ‘cause I shared a cell with the owners kid in juvie.”_

_“But it’s a start, ain’t it?” Mick offered kindly._

_“Yeah.” Barry said, nodding. “Yeah, it is.”_

_The mechanic sucked in a sharp breath before taking a few steps closer to the car. He kneeled near the dent, running his hand over it._

_“Dents not too bad.” he said. “I could probably buff it out in a couple hours maybe. The paint job’s what’d take time. We’d have to sand down pretty much the whole side ‘fore we could repaint it, y’know? Then it’s need to dry, and then there’s the second coat and it’s just a while lotta waitin’ around really.” Barry explained. “All in all, I’d say we’d need to keep it for five days. A week maybe, if we’re busy.”_

_Mick hummed, crossing his arms instead then. “Any way you could speed that up?” he asked. “It’s kinda the company car. They’re kinda stingy about ‘em.”_

_“I could probably get it done in three days, if you’ll let me take you to dinner.”_


	7. Chapter 7

Maybe sneaking out wasn’t the best idea Barry had ever had, but goddammit, he needed a drink! He had been on the dry for four and a half years, so fuck the consequences! He would go out, hit a club, get a few drinks, maybe dance a little, hopefully get laid, and be back before sun up. Mick would never even realize Barry had gone out. He lay in bed for a while, waiting for the Marshal to head to bed. Barry could hear the TV playing for about half an hour. Mick was flipping through the channels without really stopping anywhere. He was probably trying to take his mind off of their little…whatever _that_ had been. But finally, things got quiet. Mick moved around for another few minutes, checking the windows and the door to make sure everything was locked up.

At long last, Barry could hear Micks bedroom door close. He had to wait a while longer, of course, for Mick to actually fall asleep. Back in the day, he was out like a light pretty much as soon as his head hit the pillow, unless Barry could offer something more _interesting_ than sleep. These days, Barry had no knowledge of the Marshals sleeping habits so he decided not to chance anything. It gave him some time to check out his selection of what to wear anyway, so no big loss. The closet in Barry’s room had been filled with cheap, off-brand clothing; nothing remarkable to speak of, but he found a nice button-up, some jeans, and a decent-looking pleather jacket with the Good Will price tag still attached to the collar. Barry would have to inquire about the S.T.A.R Labs stylist. They had done some good work on a budget. The whole wardrobe couldn’t total to more than maybe two-hundred bucks, shoes and jackets included. He would definitively have to get some tips there.

Another twenty minutes passed before Barry decided he had waited long enough. He had his shoes under his arms as he slipped out of his room. He eased the door closed, turning the knob slowly to keep it from making any more noise than necessary. Step 1 of _Operation Sneak The Fuck Out Without Getting Murdered_ complete. There was a fire escape on the side of the building, which Barry had noted on their way in, and if his ‘calculations’ were correct, he could get out onto it through one of the windows in the living room. On sock-covered feet, Barry tip-toed across the living room, careful not to knock into anything even in the darkness. The latch on the window clicked as he undid it, making Barry freeze. His head whipped around, eyes on where he would assume Micks bedroom door would be since he couldn’t actually see it.

 

One second.

 

Two seconds.

 

Three seconds.

 

Silence.

Mick hadn’t heard him. Barry exhaled softly in relief. He got the window open, and had to smile when he saw the wrought iron set of ladders and platforms just outside. Barry set his shoes down onto the platform, wincing as the metal clattered at even that small disturbance. He climbed out still; it was too late to give up now. He was _this_ close to a night on the town, his first night of freedom, and would not surrender it because of a rickety fucking fire escape. The window was a little difficult to close from the outside, but after a little work, he could get it almost all the way down to the frame. He left it slightly open though, just an inch or two so he could get it back up when he needed to get in again.

Step 2, complete!

Barry grabbed his shoes. He moved down the first few ladders extra carefully. It wasn’t until he got three floors down that he actually stopped to put his shoes on. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this far even. He had almost expected to get busted the moment he left his bedroom. Barry hurried down the rest of the fire escape, and dropped a few feet into the alleyway below.

 _Freedom at last!_  

Now he just had to get a ride.

*

“Mardon.” the man said as he answered Barry’s call.

“Mark! It’s Barry!” the now free man said quickly.

His old friend was quiet for a moment.

“Barry _who?”_

“Bolt! _Barry Bolt_ , you idiot!” Barry said, leaning against the side of the payphone. “Who else? You only know one Barry and that’s me!”

Mark scoffed at him on the other end of the line. “Nice try, kid.” he said. “Bolt’s in prison and he will be for the next twenty-somethin’ years.”

Barry groaned. “Mark, it’s me, and if you don’t believe me, how about I call Clyde and tell him that story about the scar on your left hand?” he pressured. “Y’know, the one you told everyone you got from a broken beer bottle in a bar fight but really you just slipped with the knife when you were trying to open the packaging on a box set of _Dawson’s Creek_?”

Just thinking about that story made Barry want to laugh. Mark had told him about it in confidence, while Barry was driving him to the ER, and made Barry swear on his life never to tell a soul. Specially not Clyde, who would no doubt never let Mark live it down. To this day, they had never breathed a word about it again. Really, they hadn’t spoken at all since Barry got arrested. That was mostly so Mark and his brother wouldn’t get dragged into Barry’s mess and get arrested too.

“Holy fuck! Barry?!” the other mechanic said. “What? You’re out? How the hell’re you out?”

“Long story.” Barry said with a quick look around to make sure Mick hadn’t appeared out of thin air behind him. “I can explain later. I’m on Tenth and Brookner, can you pick me up?”

“Fuck yeah, man!” Mark responded eagerly. “I’ll bring Clyde too.”

Barry had to smile. Those two were still inseparable as ever, it seemed.

“Good, and I need some cash. Can you hook me up?” he asked.

“Yeah, man, we kept your stockpile safe.” Mark said, the sound of movement in the background. “We’ll be there in ten.”

*

Barry was standing in the dark just outside the glow of a streetlight when a car he recognized pulled up to the curb. An old Thunderbird, candy apple red, but in mint condition. He was glad to see they had taken care of at least the few of his babies that hadn’t been impounded when he was arrested. Mark hopped over the door in a sleek move since the top was down, and Clyde did the same on the passenger side. Barry hurried out of the shadows, greeting them with a smile. The brothers practically threw themselves over him to welcome him back, both talking over each other as they huffed him and patted him on the back. Barry had become like the third Mardon brother, and the head of the family even though he was younger than them both. It had been like that ever since their juvie days, when they were fresh in the clink and Barry was a veteran. They had fallen under his purview in some way that none of them really remembered. They had been as good as family ever since.

“So how the hell d’you get out, Barr?” Clyde asked as eagerly as Mark had.

Barry smiled and pulled up the leg of his jeans to show his anklet. “Some scientist sprung me. Wanted me as a test subject for some experiment.” he explained. “I’m shackin’ up with a Marshal,” Neglecting to say _which_ Marshal. “-but I snuck out. Needed a night of debauchery with my brothers.” he added with a smile, throwing his arms around their shoulders.

His brothers laughed up a riot as they damn near carried him over to the car. Barry slid into the driver’s seat like he had never left it, relishing the feel of the leather steering wheel under his hands. This car may be one of many babies, but it was definitively The Baby. The first car he ever bought with his own money, the first car he ever wrapped around a tree, the first car he restored from the ground up, the first and only _Baby_.

“Is Empire still open?” Barry asked as the car roared to life under his touch.

Mark climbed into the passenger seat, and Clyde got in the back.

“Nah, they got bought out a while after you went in.” Clyde said as he hopped up to sit on the backrest of the backseat. “But there’s a club called SoundWave there now.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “-it’s the hot spot. The whole crew hangs there these days. Rathaway owns it. Opened it with his daddy’s money ‘fore they cut him off.”

“Sounds good to me.” Barry said, smiling as the engine revved. “Let’s go cause some trouble.”


	8. Chapter 8

It was just after eleven, but SoundWave was already packed when Barry and his brothers walked in. They had waltzed right past the line outside and the bouncer had just smiled and held the door for them. Barry had become a stranger to the city, but the Mardons were still big enough in the game to be on the VIP list at every place like that club. As long as Barry stayed close to them, or until he could make himself known again, he was on the list right there with them. The trio moved over to the bar, pushing through the throng of bodies dancing to the music. They all lit up when they saw the woman working behind the bar.

“Shawna!” Barry shouted over the ear-shattering music.

The woman looked shocked for a moment, before an enormous smile split her pretty face. “Barry!” she shouted back.

With a quick few motions behind the bar she placed a glass of whiskey in front of him, along with a beer each for the brothers. She joined in on a short toast, throwing back a shot of vodka, before having to get back to work. Barry drank his whiskey in one go, and chugged Marks beer and about half of Clyde’s too. He hadn’t gotten drunk in almost five years, so Barry thought he deserved to start his night off with a bang.

“Let the old gang know I’m back!” Barry told the brothers loudly. “But keep it in the family. I don’t need any trouble with my Marshal friend.”

“Got it, man!” Mark said with a curt nod, gesturing to Shawna for a refill.

“We’ll be in the VIP!” Clyde added. “We’ll get you on the list too!”

Barry nodded before he turned on his toes and headed out onto the dance floor. He wasn’t really one for dancing, never had been. Specially not in nightclubs. Still, it was a pretty nice way to scout the prospects and find someone to hook up with. Barry found himself near the middle of the floor, surrounded by beautiful people, so he rolled with it. He moved with them and with the music. He had missed this. The freedom of being able to go out and get shitfaced with his brothers and all their friends. Barry might not like dancing, but he was so glad he was out there in the real world to not like it as opposed to being stuck in his cell.

He stayed there for a while, just enjoying it; the thrumming of bass making his body vibrate, the heat of people moving around him, the heavy smell of alcohol, the sweat rolling down his back. There would be more time for all that later. His old crew had to be waiting for him. Mark and Clyde had no doubt called them all down to the club just to see Barry again. It would be good to see them. They were all criminals of their own kind so visiting him in prison had been a big no-no. Barry sidled through the people again, pushing on until he hit the edge of the dancefloor and the crowd thinned slightly. From there he moved back to the bar. Hm, Shawna had been replaced. She must have called in a favor or taken her break. Barry pushed to the front of the crowd there, coming to the counter. He raised his hand at the new bartender, a quite handsome young man whom Barry made sure to remember, and he quickly placed a bottle of beer in front of Barry. He took a slow sip, happy to feel the alcohol bubbling in his gut.

_“Bolt?!”_

Barry whipped around because only cops ever said his name like that. His eyes widened when he spotted the man who had called his name over the music. _Oh, fuck…_ What the hell was a guy like _Snart_ doing in a place like _this?_ And _wow,_ dressed like he owned the fucking place? _A deep navy blue button-up that showed the form of his arms and chest, silver cufflinks that glinted in the strobe lights, tight black slacks that no doubt molded to fit perfectly over a shapely ass and muscular thighs._ Oh, fuck. Shit. Shit, shit, shitty shit, _shit!_ Barry pushed through the people once more. He got a hold of Snart’s wrists and pulled on it to make him follow. Thankfully, Snart seemed too confused to fight Barry on it, simply trotting after him through the club. They made it over to the VIP section, which was separated from the rest of the place by a red velvet rope and a guy who was well over six feet tall and looked like he bench-pressed a car or maybe two on a good day. Barry shouted his name at the bouncer, who had to consult his list for a moment but finally let them enter.

Even though they were only really divided by long black curtains, the VIP section was a surprising amount quieter than the outside. Barry weaved through the strategically placed tables and the people who stood around them. He spotted his crew, the whole gang of minor offenders, sitting packed into one of few booths, which were like the VIP section of the VIP section. They all lit up when they spotted him too. Half of them were about to get up to meet him when he held up a finger, as if to tell them to wait. They watched in confusion as Barry and Snart hurried past them to an abandoned table. Barry took a seat, and Snart, looking less confused by then, did the same.

“How _the hell_ did you get here?” Snart asked bitingly, leaning in and keeping his voice low. “Where’s Mi- Rory? Where is he?”

“Okay, so I _may_ have snuck out,” Barry began, speeding up his speech when he saw the anger flood onto Snart’s face. “-but I just wanted to see my friends!” Barry defended and pointed over to where the gang was watching them curiously. “And I really, really needed a drink and I know it was a bad idea, but my friends are all the family I have left and I haven’t seen them in _so long!”_

Snart was glaring at him and _Jesus_ , those eyes were cold as the damn arctic.

“Are you insane?!” Snart hissed. “Do you realize what this means for my project?! I’ll get the blame for all of _this_ ,” he continued with a gesture around the place. “-and they’ll shut me down!

“Oh, shit, really?” Barry exclaimed.

He had realized that if he was caught they would definitively ship him back to Iron Heights, and probably toss him in solitary just for the hell of it. But Snarts whole project would be shut down too? Barry would have assumed they would just find themselves a new volunteer. There had to be hundreds of people in jail around the country who would gladly make the same decision Barry had made. Ah, man…now Barry felt like an asshole.

“Yes!” Snart all but shouted at him. “This is my life’s work and you are effectively _ruining it_!”

“No, no, no, no!” Barry insisted quickly, grabbing Snart by the wrists again to keep him from getting up and leaving. “No one has to find out! Okay? No one needs to know!”

Snarts glare became even more venomous if that was even possible. He jerked his hands back, out of Barry’s grip.

“Just gimme half an hour to talk to them then- then I’ll sneak back into the apartment and Mick won’t even know I was gone!” Barry promised quickly. “Please, Snart. Please! These people are my family!” he pleaded, gesturing at the gang again. “Please. I will literally go down on my knees and _beg_ if you ask me to, just _please,_ let me talk to them.”

The doctor looked more than reluctant. Barry half expected him to pull out his phone and call Mick. Never in his life had Barry been so tense.

“Twenty minutes.” Snart finally conceded. “One _second_ longer, and you won’t have to worry about Mick, because I’ll kill you myself.” he threatened.

“Thank you!” Barry said quickly, hurrying out of his seat. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Snart rolled his eyes. “Get on with it.” he said, tapping at the display on the silvery watch half hidden under his sleeve. “Nineteen minutes, fifty-six seconds.”

Barry nodded curtly then jogged over to finally see his friends again. As he moved towards them, they all shuffled out of the booth to meet him. Shawna happened to be closest, so she was the first to be enveloped in a tight hug. It felt good to hug her again. She was as much a sister to him as Mark and Clyde were his brothers. Axel Walker was next; a close friend, after the first time he had hooked Barry up with a potential buyer for one of his illegally acquired cars. Roy Bivolo came after him; an artist when it came to paint jobs and he had been working at Mardon Motors since Mark and Clyde’s father ran the place. Hartley was last, but not least, of the bunch; though snarky and generally unpleasant at times, he had also been a longstanding close friend to them all, and he was one of the people responsible for most of the city’s street races.

“Hartley, you little shit,” Barry said, tousling the man’s hair mockingly, as they sat down. “-I like what you’ve done with the place. Nice job, kid.” he added with a clap to Hartley’s shoulder.

Hartley grimaced as always, and straightened his glasses. “I’m, like, three months younger than you.” he muttered while attempting to get his hair back under control.

“Keyword being _younger_.” Barry said, making the company laugh raucously.

“I like you better when you were in prison.” Hartley said, though with a smile, as he slid an untouched bottle of beer over to Barry.

He racer grabbed the bottle, thanking his friends with a smile and a wink. “And I liked you better when your mouth was shut.” he retorted.

The gang laughed together again while Barry took a long drink from his beer.

“Better make it snappy, guys.” Barry said once he had put his bottle down. “I only got about fifteen minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I GOT MY LAPTOP BACK FROM THE REPAIR SHOP!!!


	9. Chapter 9

Barry hated it, but he had to say his goodbyes then hand over the keys for Baby to Mark again. Snart was insisting on driving Barry back to the apartment to make sure he actually got there. Really, though, Barry couldn’t blame him. Snart had no reason to cut him that kind of slack after this particular _stunt_ , as Mick was prone to calling Barry's escapades.

They had to walk for a bit to get to Snarts car. He had obviously been late to the party and all the good spots near the club had been taken. It was pretty nice, though, Barry thought to himself. A good opportunity to maybe work his charm a little? Sure, Snart would be pissed at him for sneaking out, but Barry might be able to lighten the burn a bit, if he played his cards right. A walk under the stars in the quiet downtown of Central City? Perfect charm-time! Romantic even, but not overtly so, so Barry might even be able to appeal to the good doctors more… _primal side_ , so to speak? If he got Snart to find him attractive, he might be subconsciously willing to let go of minor offenses like sneaking out.

“Y’know, I wanted to be a scientist too.” Barry opened, hands in his pockets and eyes cast down at the ground.

“Really?” Snart hummed.

He sounded mildly disinterested, but at least he had answered. It was a good start.

“Yeah.” Barry confirmed. “Wanted to…finish high school. Go to college. Get a doctorate. All of it.”

“Why didn’t you?” Snart asked then.

He was on the hook. Barry had to reel him in slowly. If he moved too fast, Snart would get suspicious. He knew Barry's background, or some of it at least. He probably knew Barry could be quite manipulative when he chose to be.

Barry shrugged. “Stuff happened. Ended up doin’ four years in juvie.” he said. “I was released on my eighteenth birthday. Didn’t have a high school diploma, no money, no family. Survival was kinda the top priority for a while.”

Snart hummed again. “You could get your GED now.” he suggested. “Go to college after the project is finished.”

“Yeah, if I survive it.” Barry huffed.

“According to our simulations, there’s an 89.72% chance you’ll live.” Snart informed, making Barry chuckle.

“So there’s a 10.28% chance I’ll die?” he asked.

“You gotta risk it to get the biscuit.” Snart deadpanned, again making Barry laugh. “Or so Ramon keeps telling me.”

“Guess he’s right on that one.” Barry said once he had calmed again. “What a biscuit it is! Parole _and_ a pay check? Man, I know guys in prison who’d literally kill for a shot at that.”

“I don’t doubt they would.” Snart agreed lowly.

He got his keys out, clicking the fob to unlock his car. Barry was disgusted by the sight of said car.

“That is the biggest piece of shit I have ever seen.” he said flatly.

Snart grimaced at him. “I have more important things to think about than what kind of car I drive.” he defended. “I don’t even like driving.”

Barry was in the right, in his own opinion at least. The Monstrosity (yes, capitalized) was a vomit green Nissan from the stone age, it looked like, and it seemed to be held together solely by duct tape and Snarts willpower. Barry was mortified to even get in the passenger seat. He wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of that… _thing._ As soon as the door closed behind him, Barry slid down in his seat and did his best to hide his face from the public.

“What’s wrong?” Snart asked as he attempted to start the car.

“I would die of shame if someone saw me in this thing.” Barry responded.

Snart grimaced again, probably mostly at the car since it refused to start even after his third try.

 _“Jesus Christ.”_ Barry sighed and climbed out. “Pop the hood.”

Snart, thankfully, didn’t argue.

It took a few minutes of work on Barry's end, but he got the Monstrosity started. Snart thanked him quietly, then proceeded to listen to Barry complain at the state of the Monstrosity’s innards for the whole drive. Barry had worked on some of the finest cars in the city and dedicated most of his life to taking care of cars, so he thought he deserved to complain about the bad ones. Especially when he was sitting in one and had rust from its engine block under his fingernails!

“Y’know, if you gimme a couple weeks, I could get that engine good as new again.” he suggested as Snart parked in front of their destination.

“Really?” he asked.

He seemed mildly surprised; whether it was at Barry's offer or the possibility of getting the Monstrosity fixed, Barry was uncertain.

“Yeah.” Barry said with a shrug. “I’d probably have to buy some new parts but yeah, I think it could be done. Then I could talk to Mark and Clyde, and they’d probably be able to fix up whatever that duct tape’s holding together. Roy could repaint it, no sweat.” he continued and took a quick look around the inside itself. “And Shawna’s not a regular at the garage, but she’s a magician when it comes to interiors. I could definitively talk her into doin’ this one. Some nice leather, redress the seats…yeah, good as new.”

Snart hummed once more.

“I’ll…I’ll think about it.” he said.

“Cool.” Barry said. “Thanks for the lift, I guess.”

“Good luck getting back inside without waking Mick.” Snart said with a smirk as Barry got out of the car.

Barry fired off a smile and a mock salute as he headed into the alley to find his way back up the fire escape.

*

The window groaned under his hands as he opened it, and Barry winced at the sound. Hopefully, Mick was still a deep sleeper. Barry carefully set his shoes on the floor inside before climbing through. The place was still dark, which was good. He closed the window again, making sure to also close the latch in case Mick checked it in the morning. Barry crept across the living room as he had done before, and the door closed quietly again. His heart pounded in his chest; with his luck tonight, he’d get caught sneaking back _in_ as opposed to sneaking out in the first place. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Barry shoved his shoes into the closet and the same with the clothes he had worn out. His suit still lay on the floor as he dove in under the covers of his bed.

All in all, it appeared as if Barry had slept through the night and definitively hadn’t been an idiot and violated his parole and gotten caught doing it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold onto your butts 'cause we're ramping up to some GOOD STUFF!!! <3


	10. Chapter 10

It was just after eight o’clock when Mick all but kicked the door to Barry’s room off its hinges. Barry himself was startled awake by the loud bang of the door hitting the wall behind it. He didn’t have time to process exactly what had happened before Mick grabbed the mattress he lay on and lifted it, making Barry roll off of it and hit the floor on the other side.

“Ow, fuckin’… _why_ , man?!” Barry wailed.

“’Cause I’m an asshole.” Mick responded, and sounded quite amused by Barry’s pain.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ noticed.” Barry muttered, followed by a slightly pained groan.

“Snart wants us at the Lab before nine.” Mick said as he walked back out of Barry’s room. “Get ready!”

“Yeah!” Barry called after him. “Got it! Ow…”

“I will drag you out to the car in your underwear if you ain’t ready in ten minutes!” the Marshal shouted.

Barry, being not so keen on greeting the world in just his underwear, got up and set about getting dressed. As he did, he couldn’t help but reminisce about the days when Mick waking him up didn’t include possible concussions. Many times it included being tongue fucked until he could barely breathe, but no concussions. Well, thinking about getting tongue fucked by Mick just made him more miserable, so Barry forced those memories out of his head. Instead, he thought about the Monstrosity. He would have to catch Snart alone and have a proper talk about it; Barry needed a budget, a garage to work in, and he needed to pretty much dismantle the damn thing to see what parts he needed to order in. _All of them,_ he guessed from the state the thing was in.

The drive to the Lab was quiet and a little tense. Mick had proven very clearly last night that he wanted nothing to do with Barry, and he was only spending his precious time with the criminal because his job forced him to. So if Mick was going to be giving Barry the cold shoulder, Barry would give it right back.

*

“With this message, I, Barry Bolt, being of sound mind and- _fucking hell_ , c’mon, man!” Barry interrupted himself, because _come one!_ “This is, like, ten pages long! Do I really need to read the whole thing? I already signed all those fuckin’ papers!”

Snart sighed behind the video camera, and behind him, the vein on Mick left temple looked like it was about to burst.

“Yes, you need to read it.” Snart said flatly, as he paused the recording. “If you don’t survive to testify in case this project is called into question, we need to be able to prove that you joined of your own volition.” he explained.

Barry groaned, rolling his eyes with his entire body. “Fuckin’…fine!” he conceded.

He sat up straight and cleared his throat, finding his place in the document. The little light on the camera turned green again when Snart restarted the recording.

“Of sound mind a-”

“Start over.” Snart interrupted him.

“Oh, c’mon, really?” Barry groaned at him.

“Just do it, Mister Bolt.” the doctor ordered with a sigh. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Barry knew Snart was right. The sooner he got through this crap-heap of legal speak, the sooner they could get on with the project and start the first treatment. But he might as well milk it a little.

“Fine. But you’re buying me pizza!” Barry demanded.

Snart just sighed again. “Sure.” he said, making a get-on-with-it gesture at the criminal.

“With this message, I, Barry Bolt, being of sound mind and body, hereby willingly admit myself into Project Hydra, lead by Doctor Leonard Snart,” Barry read, voice brimming with disinterest. “-and give my body over to him to use as a test subject. I hereby also acknowledge that neither my survival nor my health are guaranteed throughout Project Hydra. With this message, I also attest that I was not coerced, extorted, or in any other way forced to join Project Hydra.”

And so on, for half an hour.

*

Barry, dressed in a white hospital gown, was wheeled (yes, _wheeled_ , since Snow insisted on putting him in a wheelchair) into a strange chamber. The walls were covered in thick metal panels, with a big glass window on one side of the room. On the other side of the glass was something that looked like a control room of a sort. In the center of the chamber, was a metal table with several straps and cuffs they would no doubt tie Barry down with.

“Woah, slow down.” Barry said as Snow pushed him up to the side of the table. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all in for the kinky stuff, but don’t you think we should decide on a safe word first?”

“Very funny, Mister Bolt.” Snarts voice, slightly distorted by static, chimed in over a PA system Barry hadn’t noted.

Barry looked over to the control room, finding Snart, Ramon, and Mick had all gathered there.

“It’s for your own safety.” the doctor informed, leaning down slightly so his voice reached the microphone. “Since you’re our first subject, we don’t know exactly what immediate effects the serum might have on you. If you’re tied down, it’s less likely you’ll get yourself hurt.”

“Alright.” Barry said exasperatedly. “My safe word is apples.”

He got up from his wheelchair and climbed onto the table. Snow quickly got to work on locking him in. Cold metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and a slightly thinner ring went around his head to keep it down. Then coarse leather straps tied over his chest and abdomen, and another over his thighs and lower legs. A boa constrictor slithering into place around him, squeezing the life out of him.

“Comfortable?” Snow asked with her usual kind smile.

Barry forced a smile onto his own face in return. “Not at all.” he said. “Extremely not comfortable.”

Snows smile warmed and she lay her hand on Barry’s arm, patting it lightly as a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry. We’ll be right next door if anything happens.” she said, not that that actually reassured him. “And you can talk to us the entire time.”

“Oh, gee, thanks.” Barry said.

His voice was a little shaky. He hadn’t really thought about it before; really, Barry had just wanted to get this whole thing over with so he could get his parole. But now that he was there, strapped in and moments away from being injected with God knows what, he was genuinely a little scared. Okay, a lot scared. Barry would probably deny it until his dying day, but God help him when Snow pulled a chrome injection gun from the pocket of her lab coat…he could hear a frightened whimper leave his body. Snow loaded a vial of liquid, which had much the same color as the Monstrosity, into the gun then held it against Barry’s neck.

“Deep breath.” Snow said softly.

Barry did as he was told, the snake hugging him ever tighter as he inhaled. He winced when the needle stung his neck then shuddered slightly as a rush of cold flooded into his carotid artery and out to the rest of his body.

“It’ll just take a few minutes, okay?” Snow said, patting his shoulder again.

He nodded as best he could. He was a little afraid his voice would give out if he tried to talk. Snow grabbed the wheelchair and walked back out the way they had come. Without her there, Barry’s every breath seemed to echo. He flinched as he heard the heavy door close, locks clanging as it was sealed.

“We’re right here, Mister Bolt.” Snart said over the PA system. “You’re going to feel the table moving for a few moments.”

The breath got caught in Barry’s throat as the table began to do just that. It was raised slowly, the whole thing vibrating under him.

“Oh, fuck…” he said lowly to himself.

It was okay. It was all okay. It would be over again soon, and Barry would be released from his confines.

“Okay, Barry,” Ramon chimed in once the table had stilled again. “-you’ll hear a humming sound for the next couple minutes but it’s nothing to worry about, a’right? It’s completely normal.”

“Okay.” Barry responded.

“We’ll be hitting you with a very small amount of radiation, okay?” Ramon explained. “Totally harmless, it’s just like an x-ray. The radiation will stimulate your cells to interact with the serum.”

Barry nodded again under the metal ring. “Okay.” he said again.

Barry’s eyes darted around the room as the humming started. The walls seemed to vibrate. He could almost felt the radiation hit him; the air became heavier, his stomach groaned with nausea, and his head felt as if placed in a vice. The radiation stabbed through his skin like needles so thin he would hardly have known they were there. The needles wormed into his veins, stabbing more and more holes through him. They coursed through him like his own blood but they were more like poison. Barry could feel himself growing weaker and weaker with every beat of his heart. His brain felt as if it had been turned to soup, sloshing around inside his skull. He could nearly taste it; the taste was warm in his mouth, sweet and tangy at the same time but bitter hints lingered at the back of his tongue.

He was quiet though. He didn’t want to mess up Snarts project; after last night, he owed Snart. He had been a hairsbreadth away from destroying all of the work the doctor had put into this project. One wrong move and Mick would have caught him, and Snarts life’s work would be sent down the drain. So Barry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the boas grip.

“Just like an x-ray.” he repeated to himself. “Had plenty of those. Just…” Barry stopped, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Just lay still. No problem. Just an x-ray, then there’ll be pizza. First pizza in five years.”

“Two more minutes.” Snart informed over the speakers.

“Two minutes?” Barry repeated again. “’S nothin’. Nothin’ at all. I’ve made laps on the track that took longer! _Fuck…_ ” he whimpered shakily.

His breaths were fast and shallow. Just two more minutes. That was all he had to endure, then it would be over! He could go back to the apartment and hide away from the world for a while. Barry could catch up on the world; watch TV, read, and be away from the table and the leather snake.

“Can you…” Snart came in on the PA again. “Can you tell me what you want on your pizza?”

“W-What?” Barry stammered.

“Just tell me what you want on your pizza.” Snart ordered exasperatedly. “It’s been five years, right? You’ve gotta want something pretty spectacular, no?”

Barry nodded against the cold metal ring. “Y-Yeah. I guess.” he admitted. “Romero, on Sixth and C-Crown Street. Best p-pizza in town! I-I-I want the double crust! With the cheese baked in it, y’know?”

Snart chuckled lowly. “Yeah, I’ve been there.” he said. “I’ve had that double crust a few times.”

Barry smiled to himself. “’S good, right?” he said. “Then I want…extra, _extra_ cheese on top. And pepperonis, and bacon! Ham, mushrooms, jalapenos, onions, and fries on it too! Oh, and fuckin’ _dripping_ in garlic sauce!”

“Sounds…interesting.” Snart said with another soft chuckle.

“Y-Yeah! Five years, I gotta make it count, right?” Barry said, smiling still.

“And would you look at that?” Snart said. “All done.”

“Really?” the subject asked.

His question was swiftly answered though, when the humming of the walls began to fade out until there was nothing but silence. It lasted for just a few moments before the door slid open with a hiss, Snows heels clicking and the wheelchair squealing slightly as she entered. The metal cuffs opened with a multitude of metallic clacks, and Snow made quick work of the leather straps as well. Barry could breathe again; the snake slithered back into its hole. Snart was at his side a moment later, to help him sit up.

Oh, Barry’s head was spinning. What the heck had that serum done to him? Uch, he felt sick to his stomach. His whole inside had been made into soup. He could feel it bubbling in his chest, threatening to push up through his throat.

“How are you feeling, Mister Bolt?” Snow asked, supporting him as he sat up on the edge of the table.

“I think…” he choked out, head starting to throb. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Cisco!” Snart shouted. “Get the trashcan in here!”

“Yup, definitively gonna throw up.” Barry said, mostly to himself.

Snow had just enough time to step back before Barry leaned forward and puked his guts out onto the floor.


	11. Chapter 11

“How are you feeling?” Snart asked.

He stood over Barry’s bed, in a small room not far from the treatment chamber. It was all done up like a hospital room, no doubt made just for Barry to lay in after treatments. The bed felt like a coffin. He was tucked in with scratchy blankets and pillows hard as concrete, but at least the spinning had stopped when he laid down so Barry didn’t care too much about the bedding.

“I’m…okay, I think.” Barry said with a shrug. “A little sick still, but the headache’s gone.”

Snart nodded along, making a note in Barry’s chart. “Yes, the radiation disturbed the natural state of your cells, the nausea is an expected side-effect.” he explained. “It should pass soon, but if it doesn’t let up in a few hours, let one of the nurses know and they’ll administer something to help.”

“Okay.” Barry said.

He ran his hand in small circles over his stomach, finding the slight heat it generated lessened the ill feeling a bit.

“We have nurses on call for you, so just press that button there,” Snart continued with a gesture to the green button on the remote for the bed. “-and one will be right here in a minute. You can stay for as long as you feel you need to.”

Barry hummed. “Okay.” he said again. “When’s the next treatment?”

“I had it scheduled for Friday, but seeing how it’s affecting you, I think we should hold off and let you recover a little longer.” Snart said with a calm look on his face. “Really, I think it’s up to you. _If_ you feel up for it, we can do the treatment on Friday. If not, we’ll wait until next week.”

“Sounds good.” Barry said.

He let out a low groan as a particularly bad bout of nausea hit him for a few seconds. It passed again as swiftly as it had come, and Barry breathed deeply for a minute. Honestly though, just being in a hospital, or hospital-like place such as this one, made him a little uneasy. It brought back several less than pleasant memories of less than pleasant times. He had spent enough time in hospitals to last him a lifetime. How in the hell was he going to get through another five treatments just like this one?

Snart moved around Barry’s bed, pressing buttons and tapping screens on the machines they had hooked Barry up to. A heart monitor, one of those brainwave measuring things, wires and cables running all over him. The doctor checked the IV, filled with some yellow liquid Barry was too scared to ask about, and the needle in Barry’s arm. Maybe not a coffin, then, but it certainly felt like he was on the fast track into a hearse.

“So, uh, last night.” Barry said a little awkwardly.

It wasn’t something he particularly _wanted_ to talk about, he would rather leave it in the past and pretend it never happened, but they _needed_ to talk about it. They had to be clear on the terms of their deal, so to speak. Barry didn’t want to go back to prison, and Snart didn’t want his project shut down. If they were going to avoid both those things, they would need to work together.

“That’s gonna be our little secret, right?” the criminal asked in a low voice, looking up questioningly at the doctor. “No one has to know.”

Snart glanced over at the door, beside which the Marshal stood with a surly look on his face. The doctor exhaled heavily, and looked back down at the chart he was writing in.

“Yes. It’ll be _our secret.”_ he said, just as quietly. “As long as you don’t do it again.”

Neither wanted the good Marshal to overhear.

“Hey, man, I won’t.” Barry said quickly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender to Snarts will. “I won’t, I swear. Cross my heart.” he added, and made an X over his heart with his finger.

“Good. Because if you do and someone finds out,” Snart said as he fixed Barry with a sharp look. “-they’ll send you back to prison. And…I can’t promise you’ll ever get out again.”

That last part sounded…surprisingly sympathetic. As if Snart actually _cared_ about Barry. Or maybe, he just didn’t want his only test subject to be taken away from him.

“Get some rest, Mister Bolt.”

Snart headed for the door, nodding at Mick as he approached him.

“Can I have a word with you in my office, Marshal?” Barry heard him ask.

He watched Mick nod curtly and followed the doctor out of the room. He was, for a brief moment, worried that Snart would blab about last night, but really, why would he? Mick would be bound by duty to report any knowledge of illegal activity on Barry’s part, and Barry would just be shipped off to Iron Heights again. For the good of the doctors work, Barry trusted he would keep his mouth shut.

*

Mick knew the way to Lens office like the back of his hand, but still he let him lead the way. Mick had no problems with that; possibly because it was an opportunity to do some sight-seeing, Len being the only sight worth seeing.

He was attractive. Smooth body, light and lithe, more sharp edges than soft curves. He had no discernible shape, so to say. He was tall, almost too stretched out to look proportionate. Thin arms, but big hands with long fingers that always seemed too cold for his own good. A neck that was too short for his body, and lips too thin for his smile. His nose was crooked and a little bumpy, no doubt thanks to that old man of his. The doctors eyes were the only ‘truly’, in the traditional sense, beautiful thing about him. Cold and icy, sharp like a knife.

Mick wasn’t much for philosophizing, but he supposed that Len was one of those people that you either loved from the moment you saw them, or you thought they were the ugliest thing in the world. But honestly? Mick felt neither for Len. He wasn’t particularly beautiful, but he wouldn’t call the man ugly or unseemly either. He just…was what he was.

Lens office door closed behind Mick, the lock clicking too. Mick was turned around quickly and pulled in close by the doctor, who had backed himself up against the door. Lens mouth caught Micks in a deep kiss, and the way Len moaned into it made it downright filthy. His hands went to work on Micks belt. They had done this a hundred times before, they both knew the routine; quick and quiet, and don’t talk about it. It was just sex, nothing more.

Still, this was…off. Len never wanted to have sex in the office. Every time Mick had tried to _initiate_ , Len had shut him down. Mick didn’t have a problem with that, of course, but why suddenly so eager? Mick grabbed Lens wrists and pushed his hands away, pulling out of the kiss.

“Woah, slow down, cowboy.” Mick said with a seldom seen smile. “Sure you don’t wanna save it for later? You always tellin’ me _not in the office_ , right?”

Len rolled his eyes, snatching his hands out of Micks quite loose grip.

“Success makes me horny.” he said flatly. “Either _you_ bend me over my desk and fuck me, or I’ll go find _someone else who will._ ”

Mick didn’t doubt for a moment that Len would walk out on him and go find some horny intern or something. But he also knew Len loved what that thought, _that_ _threat_ , did to Mick. They may not be more than a casual fuck now and then, but Mick wanted Lens body all to himself. Mick didn’t want him, but he didn’t want anyone else to have him either.

“Aye-aye, Captain.” Mick huffed.

He leaned down and got a good grip on Lens thighs, just under his buttocks, easily lifting his gangly body. Mick moved over towards the desk, while Len fit his mouth over the Marshals again. With one hand, Mick felt over the tabletop quickly and pushed aside anything and everything that was in the way. The coffee cup filled with pens and pencils hit the floor, shattering against the stones and pens scattering over the floor.

“Take it easy.” Len muttered into Micks mouth, and Mick growled in response.

He lowered Len onto the desk, refusing to let the doctor out of the searing hot kiss. Lens mouth worked just like the rest of him, with meticulous precision and care. After having done _this_ for close to a year, he knew exactly how to push every single one of Micks buttons. Of course, Mick knew how to push a few of Lens buttons too. Mick took a small step back, which allowed Len to slide off the desk to his feet and instead turn around to lean over it. As Mick got Lens slacks down around his knees, Len himself pulled out the first drawer of his desk and found the bottle of lube he kept for… _emergencies?_

Mick snatched it out of his hand a moment later. Len waited in suspense as he listened to Mick undo his own pants and the cap on the bottle open. A rough and barely slick finger pushed into Len, no mercy right from the beginning. Oh, he _adored_ Micks hands. They were big and strong, his fingers long and wide. The callouses from his gun made for delectable sensations wherever they touched on Lens body. More than anything, Len loved Micks hands when his fingers were opening him up.

Len moaned softly as Micks other hand rested on the doctors head, holding him down against the desk. Micks finger moved treacherously, teasing and tempting. A second finger forced itself into Lens ass. He whined as it did, and nearly screamed as they fucked him fast and hard. _Jesus_ , he needed to get fucked for real.

“C’mon, Mick.” Len said, sounding just as impatient as he felt.

“Alright, alright!” Mick said.

He sounded quite annoyed at being ordered around by the doctor even in _this_ situation. Still, he wasn’t exactly about to say no either. Len made a low noise as Mick removed his fingers. Mick ignored it, in favor of pouring some more lube into his hand that he then used to coat his cock. Len shoved his tie into his mouth when he felt the head of Micks cock against his opening; he couldn’t make too much noise, or someone might hear.

Just like every other time they had done this, Lens whole body felt like it was exploding as Mick entered him, still so rough and mean. He groaned into his tie when he felt Micks hips against his, and that firework when the Marshal hit Lens prostate.

“Mh, fahk!” he swore, distorted by the fabric in his mouth.

Mick groaned behind him, hand pressing down a little harder on the doctor’s head. He got a hold of the tails of the white lab coat Len still wore, twisting it around his hand until he had Len under his control. Mick, knowing full well how pressed for time they were, wasn’t dumb enough to waste any of their precious minutes. Any moment someone could come knocking on the door. So he moved, groaning again at just the sounds Len made.

Fuck, he had barely started moving before it was already nearly too much. Len was so warm and tight and he made such fucking fantastic noises at the slightest shift. Mick fucked into Len, as fast and hard he could. He fucking needed to get _there_ , and he knew Len did too.

“Oh, c’mon, Len!” he grunted, and the doctor responded with similar sounds. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”

God, Len couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t fucking breathe when Mick fucked him and pushed everything else out of him and of his head. It was so good. Phenomenal, perfect, and every other good word. Even after so many times together, it was just as good as the first. Just like the first time, Lens whole insides felt like they were melting, like his head was exploding, and his skin was electrified. He nearly swallowed his damn tie when he came; eyes rolling back in his head, vision whiting out, the wood of his desk rasping as his nails clawed at it. Mick, going by how he sounded and the slightly erratic thrust, seemed close to following suit. Despite how his head was swimming in ecstasy, Len was a little confused when Mick pulled out of him. Mick used the leverage of the grip on his coat to drag him back from the desk, and shoving him onto the floor.

“What the fuck, Mick?” Len said, attempting to both pull his slacks up and get on his feet again.

Mick let out a guttural grunt as he stroked over his still slick cock. “C’mon, Lenny.” he said. “C’mon, better take it, or Imma end up ruinin’ those pretty clothes o’ yours.”

Len sighed, but…he had already used up his back-up outfit last week when he spilled coffee all over himself and had neglected to bring a new one to the office. So unless he wanted to walk around with cum-stains all over himself for the rest of the day…

“You’re an asshole.” the doctor muttered.

Nevertheless, he got on his knees and shuffled over to meet Mick.

“Oh, I kno-ah!” Mick exclaimed when Len fit his mouth over his cock.

Mick tasted strange, but Len needed to get this over with before anyone came looking for either of them. As he worked his mouth up and down Micks cock, Len ran his hands over the Marshals thighs and hips and ass, digging his nails in and hopefully leaving marks. He knew how much Mick liked being marked. Micks hands were both on Lens head, and Len was just glad he wasn’t using that leverage to force his cock further down Lens throat. _And of course_ , as soon as that thought had gone through Lens head, Mick groaned loudly above him and pulled the doctors head down on himself. Len choked and hocked as he felt it in his throat, but he was unable to move. Mick groaned again and Len schooled himself not to make a sound as the man came.

Finally, Mick let him up. Len fell back on his hands, reeling for breath for a moment until he choked on Micks cum. Fearing that he would throw up if he began to cough, Len forced himself to swallow it down. While he did, Mick stumbled slightly, until he could lean against the corner of the desk. For some moments, they both sat in silence and caught their breath again.

Then, realizing that his own cum was already drying down the side of his desk, Len sighed and got his pants back on properly. Taking the hint, Mick did the same.

“Imma head home.” Mick said, sounding forced casual. “Gimme a call when Bolt’s ready to move. Or, y’know, for a round two.” he added as he headed for the door.

“Yeah, I’ll have the nurses call you with updates.” Len said, while grabbing the box of tissues from one of the lowest drawers of his desk.

Mick headed out, and Len got to work cleaning up his ‘mess’.


	12. Chapter 12

The air in the apartment Mick and Barry shared was fraught with tension. Barry went about his day as best he could, while confined to such a small space. Mick not so surreptitiously left the room as soon as Barry entered it. The only instance where they actually spent any considerable amount of time together was at dinner, but that was hardly anything to speak of. Mick refused to acknowledge Barry’s very existence in any other way than making food for two and setting a second plate at the table; other than that, there was silence.

Because of this, Barry spent the bulk of his time in his bedroom. Yet even there he sometimes felt Micks judging thoughts nibble on his neck. It was as if the Marshal was staring at him through the walls, piling five years of judgement on him. Barry ignored the feeling; he sat with the laptop Cisco had set him up with, and scoured the internet in search of parts for the Monstrosity. It seemed that in all of this, that was the only link to anything real in his life. It was the only link he had to everything before prison.

So Barry focused on the one thing he had some modicum of control over; a car. That was probably one of the reasons he had such a fascination with them. It was a tangible object that could be taken apart and put back together. Either it worked, or it didn’t. There was no in between for them; their states were so solid and permanent, no one could change it. No matter what went on in the world, they were perfectly permanent. They couldn’t hurt him; the only reason he ever got hurt in a car was because of _his own stupidity._ They couldn’t betray him, they couldn’t lie to him, they couldn’t fuck him over like people could.

“Doctor Leonard Snart.”

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Mister Bolt, I will strangle you.”

Barry snorted at him. “Just remember, my safe word is apples.” he reminded.

Snart sighed loudly at him over the phone. “What do you want, Mister Bolt?” he asked.

“Three things.” Barry said. “First, I think I’ll be okay to do the second treatment tomorrow.”

“Oh, good!” Snart responded with an audible smile. “I’ll inform Doctor Snow and Mister Ramon.”

“Cool. Second, I was hoping you could set me up with a garage or something if I’m gonna fix up your car.” Barry continued as he leaned back against his mound of pillows. “I’m gonna need somewhere to work on it, and I don’t think Mick would let me go back to my own shop.”

Snart hummed for a moment, seemingly thinking it over. “I think we have a garage of sorts here at the Lab, but that’s more the engineering department.” he said. “But I can talk to Ramon. I’m sure he can set you up somewhere with them. And what’s the third thing?”

“I’ve done some research and I’ve made a lil’ shopping list for you!” Barry said. “You’ll have to buy all the parts yourself. I’d get ‘em for ya if I was still at Mardons but…yeah.”

The doctor hummed at him again. “Alright.” he said. “My email should be on that business card I gave you. Just send me the list and I’ll order all the parts.”

“Great!” Barry said, delighted he could soon get his hands dirty under the hood of a car again. “See ya tomorrow, doc!”

“Yeah.” he responded lowly before a click let Barry know the doctor had hung up.

*

Mick was surprised when he walked into the kitchen to make some lunch and found Barry already there, with a table set for two. He said nothing, though, and took his seat quietly. Barry stood by the stove, frying up some pancakes. He was finished just some minutes after Mick had entered. He joined the Marshal at the table, after setting a stack of fluffy pancakes between them.

They ate in silence. There was only the scratching of cutlery against the plates and glasses being lifted and set down to fill the quiet.

The Marshal felt compelled to speak. He had done as promised and contacted some friends with the CCPD. They had been curious as to why he was looking for Iris West, but Mick had talked them down. No one would have said a word had they known Mick was doing it for Barry Bolt. He had her phone number, addresses to her home and her work. Now Mick was just debating with himself whether to share this information with Barry or not.

He could withhold the information just to spite him. Just to get back at him for… _everything_. But wouldn’t he be just as bad as Barry if he stooped so low? Sure, getting back at him would probably feel good, but then again…Barry did seem as if he was genuinely sorry for what he had done to Iris. Taking the opportunity to apologize away from him could turn him against Mick. He could start acting out, maybe even getting violent.

“Barry.”

The kid looked up. He appeared quite surprised that Mick was speaking to him.

“Y-Yeah?” he stammered.

Mick got his wallet out of his back pocket. He rummaged through it for a moment, but at last found the scrap of paper he had jotted down the information on. He slid it across the table towards Barry.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Iris.”

Barry’s eyes widened. He stared at the paper. Mick’s handwriting was as awful as always; the black letters melting together in an almost unintelligible mess. But Barry could read it as well as id it had been printing on there. The phone number almost seemed to be _staring_ back at him.

“Can…can we go?” Barry asked.

His voice was choked, barely more than a whisper.

“I checked. She gets off work at four.”


	13. Chapter 13

It was close to five. Iris had to be home by then. Even with public transport, it wouldn’t take more than maybe twenty minutes to get to her apartment building.

Barry was staring at the clock in the dashboard of Mick’s car. Again, he felt so overwhelmed. He had waited for this for so long, and now he was so incredibly afraid. Iris hated him. Barry had no doubt that she would take a swing at him. He would let her. He wouldn’t fight back; he wouldn’t run away. Barry deserved much more than just a punch in the face.

“Are ya goin’ or not?” Mick said, dragging Barry back down to Earth. “’Cause if you ain’t, I’m goin’ back home.”

“I…I’m going.” Barry said.

He had to go. He had to go and see her and at least try to tell her how sorry he was.

Barry opened the door and climbed out of the car. Mick followed his lead. They were parked just up the street. Barry walked quickly, because he knew that if he didn’t, his feet would get a mind of their own and turn him right back around. His guts seemed to get heavier with every step. He punched in the door code that had been written on the paper too. Walking up the steps was…it was horrible. He felt nauseous. His head was spinning.

They reached Iris’ floor quicker than he would have liked. He stared at the door. Barry was uncertain whether he was going to ring the bell or not, but before he could decide either way, Mick had leaned past him and hit the bell.

“Goddammit, Mick!” Barry bit, shoving the Marshal back. “What the hell?!”

“Just get it over with.” Mick said, sounding quite exasperated by his ward.

Barry wanted to argue, and he was  _ going to _ had it not been for the lock clicking behind him. He turned on his toes to face the door again. It opened inwards, to reveal the woman who stood just inside. There was a smile on her face, for a moment. It disappeared as soon as her eyes found Barry’s face.

“Iris…” Barry said.

Her eyes were wet with tears yet unshed. Her whole body seemed to be shaking. She stared at him, lips trembling.

“Wh-...” she attempted, but it died in the air. “What...?”

The confusion was obvious and understandable. As far as she would know, Barry was supposed to be in prison for another twenty-five years. Getting paroled this soon was impossible on a sentence that long.

“ _Iris, I’m sorry._ ” Barry said, coming into himself again. He spoke quickly, before Iris could think to do anything. “Iris, it was an accident. I  _ never _ meant for him to get hurt!  _ I _ was stupid and  _ he _ was stupid, and  _ we did stupid shit_, and it just went wrong! I’d never’ve let him ride along if I’d had  _ any idea _ what was gonna happen! Iris, please, he was like  _ a brother _ to me.”

Those last words...they seemed to do it. They were the drop that made the cup overflow. It seemed to break through the confusion and hit the woman right in the heart like a blade.

“Brother?” she repeated.  _ “Brother_? He was  _ my _ brother! He was my baby brother! Wally was  _ my _ brother, and  _ you _ killed him!” Iris screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Barry.  _ “You _ dragged him into your world,  _ you _ put him the car, then  _ you _ ran it into a wall! You might as well have put a gun to his head ‘cause you,  _ Barry Bolt_, murdered him!”

Barry saw the fist coming before she had even raised it. And yet, he did nothing to stop her, or block the blow in any way. He closed his eyes and let her him. He took it on the chin, staggering back. Barry would likely have cracked his head open on the stone floor if Mick hadn’t been standing behind him.

Honestly, Barry was ready to take any punishment Iris wanted to dole out. He deserved it. He deserved whatever pain she wanted to cause him for what he had done. When he looked up, he saw she had a baseball bat in her hands and she was ready to swing it. Barry closed his eye once more. Maybe he deserved to die. Maybe he deserved to get his head caved in with a bat. Either way, Barry was ready for what was to come.

He felt a heavy hand grab him by the collar and pulled him back. He was shoved into the corner of the small landing, eyes opening to see what the hell was happening.

“That’s enough!” Mick said, using his authoritative cop-voice.

The Marshal easily snatched the bat out of Iris’ hands. She would have none of it. Iris pounced at Barry, who stood frozen in confusion, but was stopped by the arm Mick wrapped around her waist. He held her back without much effort, since he was at least twice her size.

“That’s  _ enough!”_ he ordered again.

Iris was kicking her feet out at Barry, clawing at the air for him. Barry didn’t doubt that she would gladly tear him limb from limb.

“Barry, wait by the car!” Mick shouted.

Barry flinched at the sound. For a moment, the words didn’t make sense. He couldn’t understand what Mick was saying to him; he could see Mick’s lips moving, and hear his voice, but the sound was distorted. It was like static from an old TV.

But like a light being flicked on, his brain made sense of the words.

He got hold of himself. He set off down the stairs, steps echoing all through-out the building along with Iris’ shouting and Mick’s attempts to calm her. He barreled out of the building, running across the street without a care for traffic. Barry almost ran face first into Mick’s car but managed to catch himself before he hit it.

He was such a fucking  _ idiot_! Why did he think this was a good idea?! All it had done was rip open Iris’ wound again, which was  _ the last thing _ Barry wanted.  _ He was so stupid! _ He was so obsessed with begging for her forgiveness to make himself feel better, that he didn’t think about what it did to  _ her_! Why would she ever forgive him? And why  _ should _ she? She was right.

Barry was a murderer.

He let Wally in the car. He ran the car into a concrete wall.  _ He killed Wally. _

Barry Bolt was a murderer.

_ Like father, like son. _


	14. Chapter 14

_ Five years ago… _

 

_ Barry was escorted up to the witness stand. He was ordered to sit and his hands were uncuffed. He was made to take the oath, swearing on all that was holy to tell the truth. His public defender was some poor chump who drew the shortest stick. Hartley had tried to convince Barry to let him call ‘a friend of the family’, some Fortune 500 creep who was likely more suit and hair gel than man. Apparently, even as the black sheep of the family, the Rathaway name held its weight. Barry had refused. Barry knew what he had done, and he would have taken a plea deal just to get it over with if his public defender hadn't insisted on taking the case to court. The lawyer was quite confident he could talk it down from murder to manslaughter. _

_ So there Barry sat, scared out of his mind and hands once again dripping with blood.. _

_ The crew sat in the back of the courtroom, watching with grim looks on their faces as the lawyer stepped up to question Barry. At least he had them. At least he would always have them. _

_ “Mister Bolt. Barry.” the man, something Smith, said, making the criminal look up. “Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened on the night of July 22 nd ?” _

_ Barry nodded. He cleared his throat. _

_ “We…we closed up business for the night at seven.” he began. _

_ “Can you elaborate on who  ‘we’ included?” Smith interrupted. _

_ Barry nodded again. _

_ “It was me and Wally. Mark and Clyde. Shawna. Roy and Hartley were there too.” Barry listed. “We were doing…” He had to stop to clear his throat again, swallowing back the tears. “We were doing a last tune up on the car for the race. There was gonna be three races, and…I was in the last one. I went over to the tool rack ‘cause I needed a 5/8 wrench but someone had borrowed mine outta my toolbox. Then…then Wally came over and…I got worried.” _

_ “Why would you be worried?” Smith asked. “I thought Wally was your friend. Why would talking to him make you worried?” _

_ Barry sighed softly.  _ Fuck, _ it was hard to keep the tears at bay. _

_“Because he...he was a kid. A stupid, idiotic_ kid, _who_ begged _me to let him race at every opportunity he got.” Barry explained._

_ Smith hummed. “And why would he ask you for permission?” he asked. “You and Wally West had no real, tangible connection to one another.” _

_ “About a year ago. He snuck out of his house.” Barry continued his explanation. “He was like me, I guess. Had a passion for racing. For the speed. Found his way to one of the races and...he watched me win. Came up to me after and asked if...if I could teach him.” _

_ “Teach him what?” _

_ Barry shrugged. “Everything. How to race, how to...let the car be a part of you.” he said. “I guess...I became a mentor in a way. A brother.” _

_ The jury was abrew with contemplation, and judgment. They watched him with some measure of empathy and compassion. _

_ “Please, continue telling us about the night of the incident.” Smith said then. “Wally came up to speak with you, and then...?” _

_ Barry breathed as deep as he could. The tie was like a noose around his neck. He could almost feel it tightening, constricting his airflow. _

_ “I was scared he was gonna ask me to let him race. But...he didn’t. He asked if he could ride with me.” Barry explained. He had to smile softly at the memory. “Said he wanted to watch a pro in action.” _

_ He swallowed dryly, hoping to dislodge the knot in his throat. _

_ “I-I was dumb, and I said yes. I said he could ride shotgun.” _

_ Smith hummed again, as though to infer that he was deep in thought. “Okay. Let’s jump forward a little, to the actual race.” he said. “Tell us about that.” _

_ The witness nodded slowly. _

_ “Started out good. We hung back for a few seconds, hovering in second and third. I knew the track we were on, I’d raced it a couple times before. There was a hard turn coming up close to the finish line. It’s best to not be in first when you hit it. You’re driving right at a building, then there’s a wall of shipping containers on your right and the line ends right near the building. It can be hard to spot, even for me, so it’s best to let someone else take it first, just so you know where you have it. I guess everyone else knew about it too, ‘cause when we were coming up on it, everyone kinda fell back. So me and Wally hit it first.” _

_ Talking about it hurt like hell. His body was still a little sore from the crash, but the pain wasn’t just physical. Barry’s heart stung. It ached inside him. His throat was closing up. The jury was quiet, some scribbling notes to themselves. The audience stared at him; he could see his friends sitting in the back. Wally had been their friend too, like a little brother to them all. _

_ Iris and Joe sat beside their lawyer; Iris was crying silently, and Joe looked as if dead inside. As if his whole world had crumbled when Wally died. Barry hated himself. _

_“Then...outta nowhere, one of the CV joints snapped.” Barry said. “It shouldn’t have. We checked the whole car at the garage before, a-and everythin’ was_ perfect! _I...I don’t know what happened.”_

_ “And can you explain to us what a CV joint is and what function is fills?” Smith asked. “I know that I, personally, have no idea. I’m quite sure many of us here don’t know.” _

_ Barry nodded again. “It’s...so there’s a bar that goes between the front wheels, that connects to the steering mechanism. And the CV joint’s the part that connects the bar to the wheel.” he explained. _

_ It was mechanic. Explaining the basic function and build of a car was easy to him. He could do it in his sleep. He didn’t have to think about it, and  _ thank God , _ for the moment of respite. _

_ “So when you turn the wheel, the bar moves, and rotates the joints, which moves the wheels.” _

_ “Alright.” Smith said. “Please, continue telling us about the race.” _

_ Barry’s eyes were wet. It took every ounce of strength that he had not to break down and start crying. _

_ “I just...I heard a-a  _ bang _, inside the car. And...I tried to turn. I tried so hard to just...turn. But the car wouldn’t _ listen. _ And I tried to slam on the breaks but... _ I wasn’t fast enough. _ I wasn’t fast enough. So we just...went into the wall.” _

_ The tears were rolling down his cheeks and Barry wished the earth would open and swallow him up. It would be better than sitting there, staring at the man whose son he had murdered and the girl whose brother he had murdered. _

_ “I can’t...remember a lot of what happened after.” _

_ His voice was so weak. His whole body was shaking. _

_ “I...I woke up. And there was fire. _ Everywhere . _ I couldn’t breathe. And Wally...he was next to me and he was...slumped over. Leaning towards me. And he...he was bleeding. His head...it was covered in blood. I grabbed him and shook him and I was yellin’ his name, but he couldn’t..._ he couldn’t hear me. _ He wouldn’t wake up.” _

_Barry wanted to throw up. That image of Wally...it was too much._ Slumped in his seat, metal crumpled around him, blood pouring out of the massive gash across his head, his face covered in cuts from the glass. _He wanted to scream and cry, and beg to God and the world for forgiveness, but how could anyone forgive him? Wally was_ nineteen! _He got into Central City University and he was going to be an engineer and make the world a better place; he was going to go out into the world and make it better just by existing! He was_ good _, intelligent and kind and caring._

_ But none of that was going to happen now. None of it would happen, because Barry killed him. Barry took Wally’s life before it had truly begun. Before he could make the world better. _

_ * _

_ “In the case of Bolt versus the state, the jury finds the defendant, Barry Bolt, guilty, of one count of vehicular manslaughter, one count of illegal street racing, one count of reckless endangerment, seven counts of grand theft auto, ten counts of racketeering, and twenty-one counts of possession of stolen goods.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sad


	15. Chapter 15

The door closed behind them. Barry could still barely breathe. The whole ride back to the apartment had been laced with his quiet tears, the radio blasting to mask it and Mick ignoring it. He was so tired. He didn’t even know why. All the energy had just been  _ sucked _ out of him. He was exhausted like never before. It felt like he had sprinted around the city twice, body aching and mind slow and lazy.

“Hey.”

Barry froze.

He was halfway to his room. He just wanted to go to bed and pretend the world didn’t exist for a little while. What did Mick want now?

“What?” he said in a low voice.

He didn’t turn around. Why bother? Mick would ignore his red eyes and wet cheeks. What purpose would it serve?

“You okay?”

What the hell kind of question was that? Of course he wasn’t okay! He hadn’t been okay for five years.

“Don’t pretend you care.”

“I ain’t pretendin’. I’m doin’ my job.” Mick responded. “My job’s bein’ your nanny ‘til this shit’s done, and if I think you don’t have the mental capacity to keep goin’, I can pull the plug.  _ Answer the goddamn question._”

Barry turned on his toes.

“Do I  _ look _ okay?!” he shouted. “Did you see what happened?! How am I supposed to be okay after  _ that _ ?”

He hated how his voice sounded; wet with tears and broken by anger. Mick looked angry,  _ pissed off. _ As if that  _ fiasco, _ was Barry’s fault. Mick should have seen it coming. They both should have.

“Barry, you  _ killed _ her brother.” the Marshal said, voice low as though he would be shouting if he had had any less self-control. “I think she’s got a right to hate you.”

And there it was.

Iris hated him. Of course she had the right to, but Barry hated that she hated him. He hated that he had given her the right.

She used to like him. Barry had been to their house for dinner, a  _ ‘thank you for giving Wally a part-time job’ _ kind of thing, and they had gotten along great. They had talked and laughed like they were lifelong friends.

“I-I didn’t mean to.”

He was breathless. The words were a whisper.

“It was an accident.”

Mick nodded. He wanted to run away as the Marshal stepped closer. Barry didn’t want to get yelled at anymore. He didn’t want to be hated anymore. He wished with all his essence that he could go back in time and tell Wally no. Just open his mouth and say  _ ‘no, not tonight, another night’ _ .

“I know.” Mick said. “But that don’t make it hurt any less.”

When Barry looked at him, he was surprised. Mick didn’t look angry. He didn’t look like he was brimming with hate, didn’t look like he wanted to put a bullet in Barry’s head. He looked...apologetic. Sympathetic.

Barry’s knees almost gave out when Mick lay a hand on his shoulder. He was certain the Marshal was all that held him up, when the man pulled him into a hug.

It felt as if he had had his gut cut open, his innards spilling out into his hands. Barry felt empty. He buried his face in Mick’s shoulder without a care in the world of how his tears and snot and spit wet the Marshals shirt.

He should’ve said no! Should’ve told Wally to shut his fucking mouth and  _ stop asking! _ Shouldn’t have let him come work at the garage! Should’ve told him to go back home the moment they met, and kicked his ass if he didn’t listen!  _ Anything! _ Anything at all would have been better than  _ this! _ Than this stabbing pain in Barry’s chest, the rolling ache in his gut, and the guilt and shame burning through his head. He could’ve saved him with a simple  _ ‘no.' _

He would trade places in an instant. If given the choice, Barry would trade places with Wally without a second thought. He would be gone, but  _ Wally would be here. _ Wally would be alive and well, and with his family. He’d be done with college by now, maybe working on a Doctorate or something. Or maybe, he would be putting that amazing mind of his to good use; inventing more and more  _ incredible _ things every day, all to improve the world, to save it, to save peoples lives.

Barry remembered an idea Wally had told him about once; he didn’t quite understand all the intricacies of it, but it was some kind of...water purification plant. Some kind of wind-powered machine that filtered water, with turbines that conserved the energy created by the flowing water as it was purified. As Wally told it, the machine would be cheap to create and easy to build; it could provide clean drinking water and renewable energy to millions of people!  _ How amazing was that? _ Wally was just a teenager, and he came up with  _ that! _

What would he have come up with if he had still been alive?

*

Barry was a little more comfortable on the table this time around, he would like to say. He knew what to expect this time. Last time had been the first; uncharted territory, so to speak. But now that he knew the process, he knew there was nothing to fear.

An injection, and an x-ray.  _ Simple as that. _

Some nausea and drowsiness afterwards, but that wasn’t too bad. He had his little hospital room to rest up in.

Barry schooled his breathing to stay steady, as Caitlin secured the straps and cuffs. It felt a little claustrophobic; hard to keep breathing as he was, heart pounding in his ears. He focused on the ceiling. The metal tiles were big and square, ridged and patterned. Count the tiles, then count the ridges. Focus on that, and it would be fine.

The injection gun was cold on his neck. It hissed and clicked, needle stabbing into his skin. A chill ran down his spine as the serum flooded his veins. It felt like a gallon of ice water had been poured over him.  _ Why was it so fucking cold? _ Did it really have to be that cold? Was that really necessary?

_ It was fine! It was gonna be fine! Just...lie still, breathe, count the tiles and ridges, and it’ll be over in a few minutes. _

“How are you feeling, Mister Bolt?” the Doctor asked, looking down at the patient with a soft smile.

He took a deep breath. “Good.” he said. “I’m good. I’ll be fine.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll be just like last time. Three minutes. Talk to us whenever you want, okay?” she said.

Barry tried to nod, but stopped himself when he remembered the ring keeping his head in place.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

His stomach started doing backflips as he listened to her heels click while she left.


	16. Chapter 16

The world was fuzzy when Barry opened his eyes.

What happened?

The treatment. He went through the treatment, then...he must have passed out. He could remember Snart and Caitlin standing over him, and the straps and cuffs being undone. His head had been pounding like crazy, and,  _ uch, _ it still was. And what was that  _ awful _ taste in his mouth? Like he was sucking on a mouthful of pennies.

He could barely move. Just lifting his arm to find the call button was a strain. He found the wire though, and managed to drag the remote up far enough that he could grab it. He tapped the big green button a few times, and was satisfied with his efforts. It felt like Barry could sleep for a whole week and still be exhausted.

Caitlin hurried in some minutes later.

“Hey...” Barry said.

He sounded horrible. His voice was hoarse and raspy, his throat felt like a desert.

“Hey.” the woman said as she came to his bedside.

“How long...was I out?” he asked, stopping for a moment to swallow and try to wet his throat.

“Almost all day.” Caitlin said. “Water?”

Barry nodded slowly. Caitlin squeezed his arm for a moment. She walked over to the small mini-fridge that was placed near the bathroom door, and grabbed a bottle of water from it as well as a paper cup from the stack on top of it. She poured the water as she moved back to his side. Barry lifted his head as much as he could, but was grateful when Caitlin rested her hand behind his neck to help. He drank deep from the cup.  _ God, he’d never been this thirsty before. Did water always taste that good? _

“How are you feeling?” Caitlin asked as Barry pulled away from the cup.

He gasped for breath, having deprioritized air for some moments. “Tired.” he said once he had gotten some good hits of oxygen to his brain. “Just...exhausted.”

Caitlin hummed. She grabbed his chart and clicked her pen, making a note of this.

“No nausea?” she asked.

Barry shook his head. “No. Not right now.” he said.

The doctor hummed again. “That’s good.” she said with a smile.

“Yeah. D’you think I could get somethin’ to eat?” Barry asked. “I’m  _ starving! _ ”

“Sure thing. I’ll get one of the nurses to bring you something.” Caitlin assured. “I hope one of those frozen meals is okay.”

Barry snorted and smiled at her. “Compared to the food in prison, a frozen dinner is, like,  _ Michelin star _ level shit.” he said, at which the woman smiled as well. “Hey, is Snart around? I wanna talk to him.”

“I’m sorry, he’s already gone home for the day.” she said, apologetic. “I’m sure I could get him on the phone, if it’s an emergency?”

The man shook his head slowly. “Nah, no big deal.” he said. “I’ll catch him tomorrow.”

Caitlin nodded. She gave his arm another one of those warm, reassuring squeezes then left him to his recovery.

*

“ _ Oh, God _ ...” Len moaned.

Mick hummed between his legs, sending quakes through Lens cock and all through his body. Fingers wet with lube worked Len open, tongue running over his cock.

“Fuck...ah, Mick, just  _ get to it _ already.” he said.

It sounded more like a plea than Len would have liked it to. He had preferred it sound like the order that it was supposed to be. Perhaps if it had, Mick would’ve done as he was told, and not just moved his mouth to work Lens ass too. But no, Len felt Mick’s tongue tease at his hole, while those horrible fingers played with his prostate.

“ _Mick! _ Mick, oh, God!” he cried out, hands fisting in the sheets.

The man extracted himself for a moment to chuckle, fingers probing deeper as he did.

“Must be doin’ somethin’ right if I got  _ you _ prayin’...” he said.

Len would have spat some witty retort at him, if it hadn’t been for how Mick wrapped his lips around Lens cock again. Len gasped for air, unwillingly arching off the bed, as Mich suckled on the head and tongued at the slit.  _ Why _ hadn’t he let Mick go down on him properly before? He was  _ so good _ at it! It was usually only foreplay to actual  _ sex _ , but Len  _ really _ regretted that now. If he had known Mick was  _ this good _ at eating him out, he would’ve insisted he do it all the time.

He moaned again when one of his nipples was suddenly pinched. Mick had snuck his hand up Lens chest while he was distracted, and  _ Jesus, _ Len was happy about it. He hated Mick’s hands but he loved them too; rough fingertips skated over Lens nipples, teasing and pinching, and they moved against his prostate, while that stupid fucking tongue swirled over the head of his cock and down along its length until it lapped at his balls with wide strokes.

Len cried out as he came, body spasming uncontrollable. He grabbed for anything at all to ground him, the sheets, Mick, the pillows,  _ anything. _

“ _Mick! _ Mick, Mick, God,  _ yes _ , fuck, Mick!” he chanted like that prayer Mick had mentioned. “ _Ah, God, Mick!_ ”

In an instant, the terrible fingers were replaced by a hard cock, thrusting into his slowly. The sounds died before they left Lens lips. Mick’s hands wrapped around Lens hips, pulling him back onto his cock all the while thrusting into him. It was hard and deep, every push punching the air out of Lens lungs.

As good as his fingers were Mick’s cock was better; bigger, harder, more filling, Len could feel it in every inch of his body. Already so raw from one climax, any touch, any feeling on him and inside him, was like being hit with a taser. Electricity danced across his skin. He was probably begging and pleading for Mick to make him cum again, even though Len despised being made to beg for anything at all.

He could swear he came again, but he honestly wasn’t sure. The orgasmic fog was still drifting around his head when he heard Mick make a noise that sounded suspiciously like Lens name, and a battering ram hit him in the stomach.

The bed dipped beside him as Mick collapsed onto it.


	17. Chapter 17

“Cut it!” Barry called, waving his hand in case Snart hadn’t heard him.

The car stopped and the engine cut out. Snart climbed out of the drivers seat, looking around the garage as he walked over to talk to Barry.

“I hope this is good enough.” he said.

Barry glanced around himself for a moment before nodding. It wasn’t exactly a garage, just like Snart had said; it was a workshop of sorts, with engineers scurrying about from project to project. But it was certainly good enough. There were more tools than Barry would ever need, a lift strong enough to carry the car, and Ramon had reserved him a workstation. It felt good to be there. The noise of power tools, the smell of oil and gasoline, and the constant banging on metal. It was home away from home.

“It’s perfect.” Barry said.

“Good. You’ll have access whenever you want it, so long as someone from our security staff is with you.” Snart informed. “And I’m sure the Marshal will be by to check on you regularly too, so...y’know, no joyrides.”

Barry scoffed, catching the keys Snart tossed to him.

“ _Joyride? _ In this thing?” he asked, gesturing to the Monstrosity. “I think it’s by Gods fucking grace this thing is still standing. I’d be  _ shocked _ if it hit 60.”

At that, Snart cracked a smile as well, which Barry considered a point in his column. It might not seem like it, but Barry was still working him; offer a service so Snart will fell indebted to him, make jokes and get him laughing to connect happiness to Barry in Snarts subconscious, show valuable skill to make Barry appear as an ideal mate to Snarts lizard brain. All to sway Snarts opinion of him, conscious and subconscious. If he liked Barry, he would be easy to manipulate in Barry’s favor.

Plus, the fact that Snart was damn easy on the eyes was a nice bonus. Barry  _ certainly _ didn’t mind hanging around him.

“Care to give me a hand?” Barry asked.

Snarts eyes widened slightly. “Uh, I don’t...know anything. About cars.” he said.

Barry shrugged. “Neither did I. _ But_ , I learned. And I’m not sure I wanna fix this thing up if you can’t take care of her.” he said, giving the Doctor a light and playful little shove.

He actually gave a soft laugh at that, but nodded. “Okay.” he said. “Where do we start?”

*

“And can you guess what this hose does?” Barry asked, pointing with the end of a wrench.

Len hummed and lifted his head to get a little closer. He studied the hose for a moment; Barry waited patiently.

“It’s...the fuel line?” he asked at last, and looked to his teacher for confirmation.

“Exactly!” Barry said with a wide smile.

He gave Len a clap on the shoulder with the back of his hand, at which the good Doctor lit up as well. He was a quick study.

“And what can you say about the condition?” Barry continued.

The Doctor hummed again. He clicked on his flashlight and directed the beam up at the hose.

“It looks...fine. I guess.” he said, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“Here, gimme your hand.” Barry said.

Though hesitating for a short second, Len held out his hand to him. Barry took it, dirtied fingers wrapping around Lens, and guided it up to the hose. He directed Lens index finger to run along the length of rubber. Len was confused by this, before he began to feel... _something _ under his finger. Grooves, thin cracks in the rubber.

“Feel that?” Barry asked.

“Yeah, it’s cracked.” Len said, a little amazed. “How did you know?”

Barry shrugged beside him. “Intuition.” he said. “ _Or _ I just guessed it was in the same crappy condition as the rest of this pile of junk.

Len snorted at him, rolling his eyes. Always with the jabs at how shitty Lens car was...hell, it was almost endearing at this point.

His eyes landed on Barry, lying next to him on a second creeper. Barry was looking up at the undercarriage of the car, and his hand was still on Lens.

Len cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, fixing his eyes back on target.

“So it has to be repaired?” he asked.

“Replaced.” Barry said. “Gotta take the whole thing out. You’re lucky it didn’t start leaking already.”

Len nodded. He turned off the flashlight and put it back in his pocket. He brought up the clipboard Barry had given him; it was a little awkward to write on considering they were lying under the car, but Len managed to make a quick note at the bottom of the list. The damn thing was just getting longer and longer, a billion things that needed to be repaired, replaced, and maintained. Honestly, Len was pretty sure it would be easier to just  _ buy a new car. _

But this was kind of...nice, actually. Len didn’t really care much about cars, and he had told Barry as much, but it was more interesting than he had expected. Barry was a good teacher. He took things slow to start with, but picked up the pace when Len proved to be understanding things quite easily; he allowed Len to try his hand at things and commended him no matter if it was a failure or a success, simply for giving it a shot. It made Len feel good about his efforts, even if he didn’t get things perfect.

He could see why Barry was so enthusiastic about cars. There was something mesmerizing about peering into the guts of a machine, figuring out how it worked and fixing it, making it better. They were still only going over the Monstrosity to figure out what needed to be done, but Len was...invested, in a way.

“Alright.” Barry said. “Let’s get outta here.”

He rolled out from under the car, and Len followed. He took the hand Barry offered and was swiftly helped to his feet.

“So how long do you think this’ll take?” Len asked.

He tossed the clipboard onto the workbench in their station, while Barry did the same with the tools he had grabbed earlier.

“Needs a lotta work done, but I don’t really have anything better to do.” the mechanic said, as he offered a bottle of water to Len and uncapped his own. “So maybe three weeks, four? I mean, that’s if I get to work pretty much ‘round the clock.”

Len gave a hum as he drank. “The shop’s open whenever you want it.” he reminded once he lowered the bottle.

Barry nodded.

It was an amazing feeling to have oil and dirt and grime on his hands again. He couldn’t believe this was actually  _ real! _ A week and a half ago, he had been sitting in a cell at Iron Heights and had planned to do so for another 25 years, and now? He was in the real world, working on a car! It was...mind-blowing.

“Caitlin said you asked for me yesterday.” Len said, making Barry look up.

“Yeah. I just...you never told me exactly what it is you’re trying to do to me. Like, what’s the serum?” Barry asked, leaning back on the workbench. “And what’s with the radiation treatment? What’s it supposed to do?”

Len mirrored him, leaning on the hood of his car.

“Have you ever heard of the Lernaean Hydra?” he asked, thumbing at the label on his bottle. “From Greek mythology?”

Barry had to think for a moment.

“It’s that lizard thing or whatever, right?” he asked but was a little uncertain. “Cut the head off and it grows a new one?”

Len nodded. “Exactly. What we’re doing is a new kind of gene therapy we developed.” he explained. “I won’t go too deep into the science of it, but...we’re trying to make it so that, for example, if you cut your hand, it’ll heal in hours, instead of days.”

Barry listened intently. Healing in just hours? It sounded...impossible. Despite that, he found it hard not to be intrigued, when Len looked and sounded so incredibly enthused by the idea.

“And if your hand was cut off, it could grow back!” he continued, and excited smile filled his face. “If it works, we could do  _ so much good _ in the world. Heal virtually  _ any _ injury, cure  _ innumerable _ diseases! It could be the beginning of a completely new era in medicine!”

Barry was amazed.

An  _ actual _ miracle drug? Something that could cure any disease, heal any injury...he was speechless. That was something people had only dreamed of, for  _ forever. _ And Len was actually trying to make it a reality.

Barry could only imagine how many people it would save, how many lives it could improve. It felt almost beyond comprehension.

“If it works, even just a  _ hint _ that it  _ might _ be possible, we’ll get enough funding to keep researching!” Len kept going. “Then, if we could get it down to just one simple injection, we could...we could save the world.”

“Woah...” was all the sound Barry could make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt know this, but that rolling board thing u always see mechanics use in, like, movies and on tv and shit? that things called a creeper


	18. Chapter 18

Barry held up his hand and tapped at his wrist. Cisco got the hint.

“Five more minutes!” he said after looking at his tablet for a moment.

_ Another _ five minutes? Jesus, Barry was going to fucking die. He had been on the treadmill for half an hour already.

“Gimme a thirty second sprint.” Cisco said.

Barry gave a quick thumbs up. Cisco tapped his tablet, and the treadmill started speeding up under him. The change was gradual enough that Barry had no issue matching it. He gave it all he had, pushing every last ounce of energy into every step. He knew what was at stake now: a miracle cure. Honestly, before knowing the goal, he had only been in the race for his own benefit, a reduced sentence and that paycheck, but now that he was aware of what Len wanted to achieve? How could he say no to being a part of that?

How could he say no to being a part of what might turn out to be the greatest scientific discovery ever?

But right now, he was kind of regretting things, because  _ Jesus, his legs were burning. This was the longest thirty seconds of his life. _

“Alright, that’s good!” Cisco said. “Slowing back down.”

Barry gave him another thumbs up to let him know he was ready. This gas or whatever they were pumping into the mask that covered his face was doing a real number on him. Was the world supposed to be spinning like this? Barry’s fingers tingled, needles pricking the insides of his arms from the wrist all the way up to his shoulders. Hm, his tongue felt  _ weird _ in his mouth. Kind of...heavy, and numb, and his lips were sort of prickly too. Barry stumbled. He caught himself on the sidebars though, so he managed to stay on his feet and  _ not _ tumble off like an idiot.

It was probably nothing. He had been running for half an hour and was being pumped full of some kind of high-octane oxygen blend. Feeling weird probably wasn’t unusual.

“Okay, Barry, we’re gonna slow ya down.” Cisco said, as Barry began to feel the treadmill do just that. “You did great, man. Everything looks great on my end.”

Little by little, Barry could slow down, until finally,  _ fucking finally_, he could come to a full stop. A pair of lab techs hurried to his sides; one fiddled with the oxygen mask, while the other started peeling the electrodes off him. Breathing felt weird without the mask, and the,  _ likely_, more pure oxygen it had provided him with. The air felt  _ heavier _ in a way, as it filled his lungs.  _ He _ felt heavier because of it, and patches of his skin were all sticky from the glue on the electrodes. Barry needed a fucking shower and a nap.

He stepped off the treadmill, and down from the slight elevation it was on. As his foot landed on the floor, something  _ strange _ happened. In an instant, blood seemed to rush to his brain, making him lightheaded, and his vision went dark for one single second. Then he could suddenly see again.

Wait...was he on the floor? Why was he on the floor? What happened?

Cisco was leaning over him, along with a lab tech or two. Their lips were moving and sound was coming out, but Barry’s head was too... _spinny _ to make proper sense of the words. They sounded like gibberish to him. Caitlin appeared above him too, long red hair falling over Barry almost like a blanket and it tickled at his nose.

*

He had been awake the whole time, he was sure of it, but the buzzing in his ears and the way the world slid in and out of focus made things confusing. It was like he blacked out, a few seconds at a time.

One moment he was on the floor in Cisco’s lab and the next he was on a bed being rolled through the hallways, ceiling lights flitting past him and blinding him. Then he was suddenly back in his recovery room, with a needle going into his arm and a bottle of water being poured down his throat. Next thing he knew, Mick and Len were at either of his sides, along with Caitlin and Cisco who both looked worried out of their minds.

“Has he been eating?” Caitlin asked, looking at Mick.

The Marshal nodded quickly. “Yeah, breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” he said.

“And he hasn’t collapsed like this before, to you knowledge?” Len asked, but unlike Caitlin, he kept his eyes fixed on Barry.

“Not that I know.” Mick said. “He’s been doin’ fine.”

“And he’s eating proper amounts?” Caitlin continued. “Not over-eating or under-eating, not skipping meals?”

Mick hummed, shrugging lightly. “I mean...he’s been eatin’ a little more than I thought he would, I guess.” he said.

“How do you mean?” Len questioned.

Mick shrugged again. “I dunno. Made eggs yesterday morning, and I had to fry more ‘cause he ate, like, ten of ‘em.” he explained. “Had to cook up another two packs of bacon too. I just thought he was...hungry.”

“I can hear you.” Barry muttered.

Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when they heard his voice.

“What happened?” he asked,

Len rested his hand on Barry’s arm, giving it a warm squeeze. What was it with the doctors and doing that? Maybe it was something they learned in school,  _ ‘how to reassure a freaked out patient’. _

“You were hypoglycemic.” Len said. “Your blood sugar was low. The running must have pushed it over the edge. How are you feeling? Any dizziness, or numbness?”

Barry shook his head slowly. He felt...okay, he supposed. No tingly fingers, no prickly lips, and things had stopped spinning. A little sleepy, sure, but that was easy to explain through the running. He felt fine.

“’M okay.” he said. “I think.”

Len nodded at him. “Good. That’s good. We’re trying to stabilize your levels with an IV, but you should rest for a while.” he said. “We’ll test the levels again in an hour or so, okay?”

“Hopefully, this was a simply anomaly,” Caitlin added. ”-but from now on, I want you to keep a journal of all your intakes. Food and drink, anything you consume.”

Barry nodded along sluggishly as he listened. What were they so upset about? He probably just didn’t eat enough for breakfast. He was fine!

“You’ll have to monitor your blood sugar too.” the woman continued. “But...I think we can go over that after you get some rest.”

“Yeah...” Barry murmured.

He was tired. A nap sounded nice.

*

“What the hell's wrong with him, Len?” Mick asked as he closed the door behind them. “ _What the fuck happened?_ ”

Len let out a heavy breath. He slumped into his desk chair, leaning back as far as it would go.

He honestly wasn’t sure. Everything looked fine on paper, and Barry had seemed perfectly okay when they were in the shop yesterday. He didn’t understand what could have changed so rapidly. Yes, it was possible that the hypoglycemia was a side-effect of the treatments; Barry’s body trying to keep up with what the serum demanded of him, but it wasn’t something they had expected. At least not so soon. Len could have understood the hypoglycemia if it was after three or four treatments, when the serum would start to get some real foothold in Barry’s body. But after only two? That was unforeseen.

“I’m...not sure.” Len admitted.

“What?” Mick said sharply.

Len _wasn’t sure?_ What the hell did that mean? _He was the scientist, he_ _created the fucking serum, he designed the treatment, and he wasn’t sure?_ So he was toying around with Barry’s life, and _he wasn’t sure?_

“It’s likely the serum starting to manifest itself, and Bolts body was...blindsided, I guess.” the doctor said, hypothesizing out loud. “His cells working to process the serum, and consuming too much energy as it did?”

He looked up when Micks shadow loomed over him. The Marshal was leaning on Lens desk, staring the doctor down with a hard look on his face.

“I don’t give a shit what you  _ think _ is goin’ on.” Mick said. “But you best take care of him.  _ Got it?_”

Len was not intimidated. “Got it.” he said still.

Mick lingered for another second, glaring daggers at him. But finally, he stepped back and headed for the door.

“I thought you hated him.”

Mick froze. It felt as though he was about to crush the doorknob in his hand.

He said nothing. Len was baiting him, and he knew it.

He made sure to slam the door extra hard as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back in the groove with this story, so as you might have noticed, chapters may be quite frequent.  
> hopefully there will be no more writers block to fuck me over


	19. Chapter 19

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks for lettin’ me know, man. ‘Ppreciate it.” Mick said into his phone. “Yeah, I’ll buy ya a beer the next time.”

Barry wondered what that was about. Mick hadn’t said anything as he left the table to take the call. It was probably just some Marshal business that had nothing to do with Barry, but Barry was a curious person.

He refrained from asking about it, though, when Mick returned to his seat. The Marshal may have begun to warm to him again (not running for the hills as soon as Barry entered the room, actually  _ talking _ rather than  _ barking orders_) but Barry didn’t mistake that for forgiveness. Not by a long shot. He knew Mick was just getting used to the job of babysitting his lying sack of shit ex-fiancé, and he knew Mick could go right back to stone-walling Barry at the slightest misstep. So he stepped with quite some care.

Barry kept his eyes on the notebook Caitlin had forced on him, and added  _ 2 glasses of orange juice _ to the days list.

Mick chewed on his toast slowly. There was a strange look on his face. Barry didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t seem angry or upset, but more... _sad. _ Which felt like an odd look for the Marshal. He had to say something, right? It was the decent thing to do, wasn’t it? To ask, even if Mick might snap at him for it. Barry cared about him. The last thing he wanted was to see Mick said.

“Is...everything okay?” Barry asked in a low voice.

The Marshal exhaled a heavy breath. He tossed his piece of toast onto his plate as he leaned back, then crossed his big arms tight over his chest.

“I got a friend workin’ at Iron Heights.” he said. “He called to say...to let me know...”

What was going on?

“It’s your dad.” Mick said.

Barry’s eyes widened. His dad?

“Someone jumped him. Caught him in the side with a shiv.” he said. “He’s in the hospital wing. He’s not doin’ too hot. He’s awake and all, but...they’re not sure he’s gonna make it.”

Barry’s mind was at a standstill. He didn’t know what to think. Was he supposed to be upset? Henry had...he had _destroyed_ Barry’s life, torn his world apart. So...happy, then? That _his father_ _got_ _attacked and stabbed_ , and was in the hospital wing, apparently fighting for his life? Barry didn’t know what to _feel._

“We...can go see him.” Mick said. “If you want to.”

*

The door buzzed as the lock was undone. The guard opened it, letting Barry and Mick step inside.

Barry hadn’t seen the hospital wing in some time. The last time he had been there was for his annual physical, which was performed with him in cuffs. This time, as he stepped in, he did so as a free man.

Henry lay in one of three beds in the room. His hands and feet were secured to the metal sides of the bed. He looked... _different _ than he did last time Barry had seen him.  His face was covered in a scraggly stubble; he probably hadn’t shaved since he was put in the hospital. He was dressed in one of those paper gowns, his inmate number stamped across the chest. There was a thin tube going across his face, under his nose, providing him with extra oxygen. There were IVs in both his arms; one was pumping some kind of clear liquid into him, while the other was a blood bag. He had probably bled quite a lot.

He was...pale. It didn’t look right. There wasn’t enough color in his face.

Barry was at a loss. What was he supposed to do now? He had nothing to say to Henry, and he certainly had no desire to stay for longer than strictly necessary. But he had to admit, Mick had made a valid point; if Henry didn’t make it, it was likely that Barry would regret not coming to see him. Barry didn’t think he would regret it, but honestly? He rather came and sat at Henry’s side now, silently hating him or screaming his anger out at him,  _ whichever felt right in the moment, _ than do it by a tombstone.

So Barry grabbed one of the plastic chairs stacked in the corner of the room and took a seat by Henry’s side. The noise awoke the old man from his slumber. He looked around, confused, for some moments before he seemed to actually  _ register _ who was with him.

“Hey, slugger.” he said lowly, smiling at his son.

Barry wanted to throw up.

“I heard you were out.” he added, with a pointed look to Barry’s civilian clothes.

Barry had to swallow dry around the knot in his throat.  _ Breathe. Just breathe. _

“Really?” he asked. “How?”

Henry shrugged, cuffs rattling against the rails around the bed. “Oh, y’know...the guards talk. Sometimes I just happen to be listening.” he said and smiled.

Barry hummed at that. The guards could be more gossip-y than a pack of school girls. He knew that well enough. If Barry behaved well and told the guards jokes during their evening patrols through the block, they would usually spill all sorts of juicy little tidbits. Barry used to have a pretty good ear for what was going on around the prison.

It seemed he took after his father.

“Let me guess. Johnson?” Barry said. “He skips between B and C, doesn’t he? He would know I got out.”

The old man chuckled at him. “Yup. That boy’s got a big mouth.” he said.

Barry didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He wanted this to be over, so he could go back to the apartment and bury himself. Sitting there, looking at  _ him_...it hurt so bad.

_ All he could think of was that night; standing in the door as Henry screamed, knife in hand, and Nora cowered. He slapped her across the face so hard she hit the floor, but he was always careful not to leave bruises that couldn’t be easily covered. Wouldn’t want to shatter the illusion. Nora had seen Barry standing there and so had Henry. Barry had never seen her run like that before, when she ran to him. When she ran to shield him from his fathers rage. Henry was yelling, Nora was begging, Barry was crying. He grabbed Nora by the wrist and threw her out of the way. His hand wrapped around Barry’s throat, but Nora was there in an instant. She had grabbed and clawed at Henry, trying so hard to save Barry. _

_ And...and Henry buried the knife in her chest. He was screaming at her still, while he pulled it out and drove it back into her. Barry had run. He had run for his life, screaming and crying. _

“I’m glad you’re here, Barry.”

Before he knew it, Barry’s vision was going blurry, eyes clouded by unshed tears. He leaned in close to the bed, to his father.

“I hope you die.”

Henry was silent behind him as Barry left.

*

Neither of them said a word during the drive back into the city.

Barry thought he would cry, his eyes were still cloudy and sight fuzzy, but the tears didn’t come. It was as though his body  _ refused _ to shed even just  _ one more _ tear for that man. As though his mind forbid him from crying and screaming anymore than he already had.

Maybe it was a good thing. Barry had spent so much time and energy on hating Henry. Maybe it was time to move on. He knew he would never forget any of it,  _ or forgive him for it, _ but...it was in the past. Just thinking about putting it behind him hurt like hell,  _ how could he ever move on from that and live as though it never happened and pretend he wasn’t a fucking mess because of it, _ and still he knew it was probably for the best.

He deserved it, didn’t he? To live? To not be plagued by this burning hate and seething anger that he felt for Henry? The anger could burn a hole through his chest. But only if he let it. Id he held onto it. But if he just...let go of the anger, let go of Henry, it wouldn’t have the power to hurt him. It only had that power over him if he let it.


	20. Chapter 20

“I ain’t dumb ‘nough to ask if you’re okay.”

The door closed and locked. Barry was already shrugging out of his jacket and kicking his shoes off. He wanted to go to bed and just stay there for a while. He just wanted to... _not be real _ for a bit, if that made sense. Things felt too heavy to handle. A break, that’s all he needed. A little while to just breathe, without the world rushing past him at a million miles per hour.

“Hey...”

Mick grabbed his hand, more gentle than he had been to him in a long while. Barry froze mid-step.  _ God, he couldn’t fucking take it! He couldn’t fucking take Mick and his fucking pretend-sympathy! _ Barry pulled his hand out of Micks. He couldn’t do  _ this _ right now.

“Barry.” Mick tried again as Barry was about to walk about.

“Just... _stop it. _ ” he said.

He was too tired to shout and fight and argue. Barry wanted to go to bed, but he had to eat something first. His bloodsugar was probably getting low, and he hadn’t eaten anything in close to four hours, despite Caitlin’s orders. He shuffled into the kitchen, finding his kit and journal on the table where he left them. He put a new needle in his glucose meter and hissed when it pricked his finger. The machine beeped in his hand as it processed the drop of blood, while Barry sucked on the injured finger. Hm, better than expected; below his normal, but within reasonable range. He made sure to jot it down in his journal. He capped the needle, unscrewed it from the machine, and tossed it in the little yellow medical waste bucket Caitlin had drilled into his brain to use.

“Here.” Mick said as he appeared beside Barry.

He offered up a granola bar. Barry took it reluctantly. They tasted like cardboard but it would give just enough to put him back to more normal levels. He was sure to add it to the list as well. Barry leaned back against the kitchen counter as he tore open the wrapper and took a bite.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Barry didn’t get it. He just... _didn’t get it. _ A week ago, Mick was all over Barry’s ass about how angry he was and how much he hated Barry for what he did, and now he was suddenly trying to be  _ sympathetic? _ He could understand that Mick was angry; Barry gave him a pretty damn good reason to be angry. But sympathy? Mick had  _ no reason _ to be anything but  _ mean and angry and bitter and spiteful. _

“Don’t try to bullshit me, Rory.” Barry said then took another bite of his snack. “Can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

His dad was dying.

His dad, an abusive drunk who murdered his mother and would likely have done the same to Barry if he had had the chance, was dying.

Barry didn’t know what he was supposed to be feeling. He was...so angry and tired and sad and he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and hit something and break something! He hated Henry for everything he had done, and yet there was some small voice in a dark corner of Barry’s brain that was crying, because  _ his dad was dying. _ His father, the only family he had left in the world. That little voice in Barry’s head was screaming at him  _ he’s your father and you love him _ while the rest was thundering  _ he’s an abusive fuck and he deserves to die. _

He couldn’t think straight. None of it made sense in his head. Everything was a jumbled mess, like walking through a glass maze; he walked into wall after wall and chased after his own reflection, he couldn’t tell up from down or backwards from forwards. He was spinning in place as the world rolled out of focus.

He wanted to turn it off. He wanted to turn it all off and go away, just for a little bit and catch his breath and figure out which path lead to the center, which way he should go to get rid of the mess.

“I just...I don’t know what I’m...”

Barry couldn’t put it into words. His head felt so weird; heavy and full, but empty at the same time. There were no thoughts, just...an  _ emptiness _ that weighed a ton.

“I get it.” Mick said anyway. “You’re not sure what to feel.”

Barry nodded slowly. That sounded right.

“That’s okay. He’s your dad, but he’s a bad person. You love him, but you hate him.”

That sounded right too. It was like his brain couldn’t reconcile these conflicting opinions; it didn’t care which one was right or which one was wrong, what was true and what was false, because to  _ it? _ They were all true. Henry was Barry’s dad  _ and _ a bad person, and Barry loved him  _ and  _ hated him.

“How’d you know?” he asked, finally looking at the Marshal.

Mick shrugged.

“’Cause it’s how I feel about you.” he said, as though that was obvious. “You were my fiancé, but you’re a bad person.  _ I love ya, but I hate ya._”

Barry’s eyes widened. What did Mick just say?

“You...you love me.” he repeated, in  _ awe. _ “Still?”

The Marshal let out a heavy breath, hands scrubbing over his face.

“Don’t know.” he said. “Really don’t.”

The mechanic could only nod, he supposed. What was he supposed to say to that?  _ ‘Cool, I never stopped loving you’? ‘Awesome, let’s bone until we can’t walk’? ‘That’s probably a bad idea’? _Sure, the first and third options were totally true, and the second was just the masochist in Barry talking because  _ who can say no to more emotional torture, _ but that didn’t mean it was a good idea to actually say any of them.

“Go to bed.” Mick said. “Get some rest. Got a treatment tomorrow.”

Barry swallowed dryly, but nodded. He turned back to his journal and stared at his scribbles. He listened to Mick start to walk away to his own room.

“But...” Mick said.

It made Barry look up again. He almost hated the strange spark of hope that was struck in his chest. Mick had stopped in the hallway, throwing a glance back at him.

“Talk to me. If you need to.” he said. “’Cause...I do. Y’know...care. About you.”

“Y-Yeah.” Barry stammered out.

Mick nodded to himself, then kept on walking.

Barry didn’t inhale until he heard the Marshals bedroom door shut. He gasped for air, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. In no time at all, his eyes were overflowing with tears.

_ Oh, God, it was like being stabbed in every nerve all at once. _

Henry was dying, Mick loved Barry, Barry loved Mick, Barry was being a bad person and playing every single person at S.T.A.R Labs just like he played everyone he ever met.

No. No, Barry was  _ not _ doing  _ this_. He was  _ not _ turning back into a blubbering mess of tears and  _ emotion_. Barry was going to do what he did best; bottle it up, repress it into the deepest corner of his mind, and pretend nothing was wrong.

He had to bite into his knuckles until it  _ hurt _ to keep from making a single sound. He wiped his face dry and took a deep breath.

Barry was not about to let something as trivial as  _ feelings _ mess up his chances at freedom.


	21. Chapter 21

Barry hopped up on the table and laid down. Caitlin strapped him in and shot him up. It felt almost routine. He had gone through it two times already, so he knew it wasn’t going to blow up in his face or anything. Sure, it made him feel like total crap for a while after, but now he at least knew it wasn’t going to kill him right away. Maybe in the long run, because God knows whether Lens serum was actually going to work or not and there was still that  10.28% hanging over his head. But hey,  _ living on the edge _ and all that.

“How are you feeling?” Len chimed in over the PA, static crackling around his voice. “Ready to start?”

“If I could move, I’d give ya a thumbs up.” Barry replied. “Let’s get it over with!”

“Alright.” the doctor said. “As usual, just lay still and it’ll be over before you know it.”

The table moved, raising him another foot or so above the floor. The walls starred humming. Barry took a deep breath.  _ Just like an x-ray_, he reminded himself.

It would be over in no time. A couple minutes on the table, about a day of feeling like a steaming pile of garbage that had been baking in the sun for a week, then he could head to the shop and get his hands dirty with the Monstrosity again. No big deal. He had done this twice already. And really, he had survived worse. It wouldn’t exactly be the  _ worst _ three minutes of his life, or anything. Far from it.

Uch, he was starting to feel it already, the effects of the treatments. His stomach was turning, tying itself in knots. He could still feel the chill of the serum; it felt like an ice cube was sliding through his veins. It sat in his neck for a moment, then started moving. It bounced around his brain, giving him a splitting headache, before moving back down his neck. His veins were too small around it; it had to  _ push _ and  _ force _ to get through him. His  _ veins _ ached. The ice moved down his left arm into each finger, before going back up, then down his side into the left leg. He could feel it in his toes, like a strange cramp. It moved on to the other leg, then the other arm, then hit his torso. It was like a rock had been thrown into his lungs; it rolled around like a quarter in a bottle.

When it reached his heart, he thought he was going to die.

The ice seemed to freeze the muscle, stopping it completely. The air lodged itself in his throat; he couldn’t breathe,  _ literally _ this time. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make himself inhale. Like a lid had been put over his windpipe, air just physically would  _ not _ enter his body. As if begging for oxygen, every muscle in him started seizing. Twitching and cramping, his body pleaded for him to just  _ breathe. _

*

“What the hell’s happenin’?!” Mick shouted, staring at Barry.

The kid was practically foaming at the mouth, convulsing and fighting against the restraints.

“He’s having a seizure!” Caitlin said.

She ran over the PA panel by the door and slammed her hand down on one of the buttons. As she leaned in to speak, Barry stopped moving, seemingly falling unconscious. The computers started beeping, the screens flashed red warning signs.

“He’s coding!” Len yelled as he ran for the door. “Cut it, Ramon!  _ Get the crash cart!_”

*

Barry looked like a mess. Hell, he looked a lot like Henry had when they visited him; pale and fragile, too close to deaths door for comfort.

Mick hated seeing Barry like that. Because...what he said the night before? It...it was _true._ He did... _care_. And he did still... _love_ _him_. It made Mick _furious_ that he felt that way, but he couldn’t exactly deny it, could he? Well, he could. And he had. He’d done a pretty damn good job of denying any emotion that wasn’t anger or hate since Len told him they were going to meet Barry to negotiate his participation in the project.

He wasn’t even sure why he had said anything. Denying everything had been going  _ fine. _ But then...this whole mess with Henry happened, and Mick couldn’t fake it anymore. He couldn’t. Couldn’t do it, because he remembered.

Mick remembered Barry telling him about Henry and Nora and everything that happened. Remembered Barry breaking down in tears when he talked about it. Remembered Barry taking him to see Nora, and introducing him as though she was standing right there in front of them. Remembered going there to ask her permission to propose to Barry, and feeling stupid for asking a headstone but thanking her profusely when he tripped on nothing and landed face first in the patch of Barrys favorite flowers that were planted before the slab of granite that carried Noras name, because if that wasn’t a sign then Mick didn’t know what was. He had proposed to Barry that night, and Barry cried when Mick told him about Nora and the flowers.

Point is...Mick was a fucking idiot, who was still in love with his lying, criminal ex-fiancé who was currently unconscious after a cardiac arrest and whose bedside Mick was now sitting by.

Mick sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat and wiping the worry from his face, when Len appeared on Barrys other side. The doctor studied the machines Barry was hooked up to, and made notes in his chart.

“How’s he doin’?” Mick asked.

Len took a deep breath and nodded to himself. “Good.” he said. “It seems like the seizure stressed his heart a little too much. So...his body didn’t have any other way to stop the seizure than to kind of... _reboot. _ Like a computer. If that makes sense.”

The Marshal hummed. Sounded reasonable enough. He wasn’t much of a computer guy, but even to him that sounded pretty logical.

“When’s he gonna wake up?” he asked.

“Can’t really say. He was sedated after the crash to keep him down and let him recover, but the drugs will have worn off by now.” Len explained. “Now he’s just...sleeping. Which I think he deserves. Like I said, a seizure can be taxing. Not to mention the cardiac arrest itself. That alone is a hell of a strain. So, I think the best thing to do right now, is to just...let him rest. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

Mick nodded. He wasn’t a fan of how vague that sounded, but he couldn’t really do anything, so why even fight about it? Barry was strong. He would be fine. Mick was sure of it.

“You look like you could use some coffee.” Len said, offering up an uncharacteristically soft smile. “C’mon. There’s a breakroom down the hall. It’s not much, but the machine makes a decent latte.”


	22. Chapter 22

_ “I feel fine!” _ Barry insisted, shrugging.

But he supposed it was a little odd. His heart had stopped, and apparently Len had to perform CPR for _five_ _minutes_ before Barry had enough of a heart rate to get hit with the defibrillator. Barry might not be a doctor, but even _he_ knew that he probably _shouldn’t_ be fine after that. He’d been out cold for two days now, and woke up feeling more refreshed and alive thane ever. And Caitlin said all his readings and levels and all that crap were perfectly normal.

“Are you sure?” Caitlin asked, threading the blood pressure cuff over Barry’s arm again. “You don’t feel...weak? Exhausted?”

Barry shook his head. “No, I’m fine!” he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the thrumming of the machine as it pumped up the cuff. “I feel fine!”

The doctors brows furrowed and her lips pursed into a tight line. It seemed as though she wanted to doubt him, but the evidence made that difficult, since it all spoke in Barry’s favor.

“Normal blood pressure and heart rate.” she said as the cuff began to deflate.

Again, all his levels and readings were perfectly normal. Disregarding the seizure and the cardiac arrest, he was healthy as a horse. Caitlin freed his arm from the cuff. She clicked her pen several times, then spent some moments scribbling in her papers. They both looked up when the door opened. Cisco shuffled in, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes.

“Hey, man!” he said as he hurried over to Barry’s side.

“Hey.” Barry responded, gladly reciprocating the offered fist bump. “What brings ya?”

“Wanted to see ya, man.” the engineer said. “You almost gave me a freakin’ heart attack. One second you were fine. The next, the computer’s freakin’ out ‘cause  _ you’re fucking dying!” _

Barry winced in sympathy. That would be pretty scary, he guessed. He could only imagine the sheer panic that must have gripped them all when his heart just suddenly  _ stopped. _ The engineer pulled up one of the wheeled tables that stood all around Barry’s bed. He hoisted his bag onto the table, and started rifling around in it.

“So, this is somethin’ me and my peeps have been working on for a while, but we didn’t really have a prototype ready or anything.” Cisco continued, as he withdrew a pile of seemingly randomly chosen objects from his backpack. “But Snart didn’t even have to, like, gimme that weird, scary glare to make me get everyone on this.”

Barry nodded to himself. He studied this  _ ‘prototype’ _ for some seconds; a black wristband, it looked kind of like a watch, and something that looked like a rubber belt, as well as a pile of clear plastic squares about the size of the palm of Barry’s hand. He honestly couldn’t say what the hell it was supposed to be. He didn’t have to, though. Going by the excited look on Cisco’s face, the engineer couldn’t wait to explain this new innovation.

“It’s like a pacemaker, except, y’know, we don’t have to cut ya open.” he said, chuckling a little awkwardly.

Barry felt compelled to smile too. Cisco was just  _ too precious_, Barry couldn’t stand seeing the guy disappointed.

“So this watch,” Cisco continued, pointing to said watch. ”-measures your heart rate. It keeps track of blood pressure too, just to be safe. And when it notices a deviation, like a cardiac arrest or arrhythmia, it pings to this belt.”

He held up the rubber belt excitedly, and Barry saw the slim module attached to it, which was no doubt the signal receiver.

“Which then pings to these tabs,” Cisco carried on, trading off to the plastic squares. ”-which you’ll have on your chest and stuff.”

When he held one up to the light, Barry could see the almost clear network of wires fixed to the plastic.

“And they’ll give your heart a good shock. If it’s arrhythmia, it’ll give enough juice to put you back to proper rhythm.” the engineer explained. “If it’s a full cardiac arrest, they’ll give rhythmic shocks to simulate a heartbeat, and send a 911 to Rory, Snart, Caitlin,  _ and _ emergency services,  _ with _ a location ping from your ankle monitor. Since you’re never really alone, someone will be there to provide mouth to mouth to keep you oxygenated.”

Though the idea that he was in danger of dying at any second was scary, Barry was a little relieved now. He had the pacemaker to keep him alive, and if anything  _ did _ happen, people would come running to help.

He was going to be  _ fine._

_Aboslutely, perfectly fine. _


	23. Chapter 23

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

Barry jumped at the sudden voice. Which lead to him jerking back and banging his head into the open hood of the Monstrosity. He let out a pained groan as he staggered back.

“Are you okay?! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Len? What was Len doing in the shop? Barry, though a little dizzy, managed to lean on the car as Len ran around to be at his side.

“Let me see.” the doctor ordered.

Barry had no time to comply of his own accord. Len grabbed his head and  _ made him _ lean down. He could feel Len’s fingers dig around in his hair; they ran over his scalp, feeling for a cut. Barry really knew better than to fight it. If he did, Len would just drag him to the recovery room and stuff him in an MRI or something. Plus, it was over in a minute. When Len seemed satisfied that there was no blood and no cuts, he let Barry go and took a step back.

“I’m...really sorry.” he said.

The mechanic chuckled, running his hands through his hair to settle the mess it had become.

“It’s fine. Got a hard head.” Barry said. “You try spending two hours under a car then getting up  _ without _ banging your head on the door.”

Len snorted at that, and smiled. Barry liked that look; Len was almost bashful, smiling and averting his eyes, fingers fiddling with his tie. And hell, if Barry didn’t just get his brains a little scrambled, he would swear he saw hints of pink in the doctors cheeks. This was a totally new look, to him. He was pretty sure he had never seen Len look _ shy. _ The guy was usually so...professional. Always on task, whatever the task may be.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Barry’s smile widened. “Thanks. And I hear I have  _ you _ to thank for that.” he said, giving Len a teasing poke to the side, which made him flinch away as though he was ticklish.  _ Very interesting. _ “CPR for five minutes?”

The doctor averted his eyes even further, straightening his tie and cuffs.

“Well, I just...y’know, I just...” he attempted, quite fruitlessly.

“Yeah,  _ you just _ saved my life!” Barry said. “Wouldn’t be here without ya.”

At that, the doctor’s smile all but vanished. He stepped back, leaning against the workbench. Barry watched and waited as he scrubbed his hands over his face and buzzed hair. He almost seemed...guilty.

“Wouldn’t be on that table in the first place if it wasn’t for me.” Len said finally, and exhaled a deep sigh. “You’d be safe and sound in Iron Heights. No weird diabetes or whatever we’re supposed to call it, and  _ certainly _ no cardiac arrests.”

Was...was he being serious? He was, wasn’t he? Barry couldn’t believe it.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” he asked.

Len looked up, brows furrowing. “Excuse me?” He said.

“Len,  _ ‘safe and sound in Iron Heights’_?” Barry repeated. “You can’t be serious. I was there for four and a half years, and in that time, I was stabbed three times and got beaten up pretty much every six months.”

The doctor’s eyes widened at that. “Really?” he said. “ _ Jesus... _ ”

“Thanks to you,  _ I got to leave._” Barry reminded. “I get to eat whenever and whatever I want, I get to  _ shower alone _ and take a piss without someone starin’ at me.”

How did someone as smart as Len  _ not _ understand this? Yeah, the treatments were hell on Barry, but that was  _ nothing. _ They were  _ one day _ out of the week. The rest of the time, Barry was a free man. He was in the  _ real world_, with  _ real people. _ He wasn’t a rat in a box anymore. He was a person again. He became a person as soon as he walked out through the gates of the prison. None of that would have been possible without Len.

“I get to sleep in an  _ actual _ bed!” Barry said.

It might sound stupid to anyone else, especially if they had never been in prison, but Barry had thanked God for that mattress more times than he could count. Just the fact that he  _ bounced _ when he sat down on it was mind-blowing to Barry. He had had to sleep on an inch and a half of foam for so long, that  _ laying down and sinking into the mattress _ had become such a foreign concept. It was like sleeping on marshmallow and Barry could cry it was so good.

“Len, I get to look at the horizon without bars and fences blocking the view.” the man said wistfully.

The doctor stared at him, eyes still wide, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You gave me a  _ huge _ part of my life back.” Barry said, smiling. “You made me a  _ person _ again. And I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Len hesitated to respond in any way, it seemed. Barry could understand that. The doctor was afraid his experiment was too dangerous and would end up killing Barry for real, while Barry was  _ thanking him _ for putting him in danger. But Barry wanted this. And no, not just for his own benefits. It started that way, yes, but not anymore. He was invested in this. He wanted to see it succeed just as much as anyone else working on it.

Maybe if it did...it made up for things. In some small way, maybe it made up for what Barry did. It wouldn’t bring Wally back, Barry knew that, but he knew this was what Wally would have wanted. A miracle cure, something that could  _ save the world_, just like Wally dreamed of. And if Wally wasn’t there to make it happen, then Barry would act in his stead and make it happen on his behalf. Barry suffered the danger and the pain of the experiment, to...to  _ repent _ for his actions. His deeds and misdeeds that lead to the death of a teenage boy who just wanted to make the world a better place.

“I don’t want your thanks.” Len said.

Barry was a little surprised by how cold and stern his voice was.

“I want you to  _ be alive._” he continued, crossing his arms tightly and tensing his shoulders. “This could kill you. Technically,  _ it already has. _ What if you go into cardiac arrest again, and  _ I’m not there  _ to give you CPR? What then?”  


Barry wasn’t fond of this voice, or the look it put on Len’s face. He recognized it, though. He knew it well. Worry, the desperate kind, with a hint of fear. Len feared that Barry wouldn’t live through the experiment. But he didn’t have to. Didn’t have to worry or be afraid. Barry had his pacemaker, and a hell of a lot more repenting to do. He wasn’t going out anytime soon.

“Then I have this.” Barry said as he pulled up his shirt.

The belt sat around the lower part of his ribcage; there was a sticker right over his heart and one on his side, just where one would place the paddles of a defibrillator. The watch was on his wrist as well, and Barry didn’t plan on taking it off.

“And I have Mick, and Cisco and Caitlin, and EMT’s to save me.” he reminded. “I’ll be fine, Len.”

Len stared at Barry’s chest, the belt and the stickers and the watch. Barry could see that he was biting his cheek nervously, but was trying not to show it.

“Do you promise?” the doctor asked, as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Barry’s gaze. “Do you promise that you’ll be fine?”

Barry wanted to smile. He wanted to smile and laugh and make light of the situation. He wanted to, but the look on Len’s face made him decide not to. Len was...obviously concerned. Justifiably so, Barry would say. Barry did have a  _ weird diabetes _ and he did go into  _ cardiac arrest_. The treatments, this experiment was dangerous. There  _ was _ a chance he wouldn’t survive.

A promise wouldn’t make a difference. Barry could promise all he wanted and he still might not make it. But if a promise made Len feel better, Barry would promise.

“I promise.” he said, letting his shirt fall back into place. “I promise I’ll be fine.”

The doctor took a deep breath, nodding slowly. He looked relieved. Barry was glad he could take some of the fear away. He didn’t like how fear made Len look; so small, and almost child-like, as if he wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth to be away from what frightened him.

“You should go home.” Len said. “You need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

Barry hummed, hands up in surrender for a moment. “Okay. Where’s Mick?” he asked. “He’s kinda my ride.”

Len shrugged a little awkwardly. “I sent him home this morning.” he admitted. “He was here the whole time you were out. I’d be surprised if he got any sleep. Tried to call him when you woke up, but my guess is he passed out. I’ll get one of our security officers to drive you.”


	24. Chapter 24

The security guy insisted on walking behind Barry as they went up to the apartment. Probably paranoid, maybe he thought Barry would take the opportunity and slip away as soon as no one was watching him. Honestly, Barry was too fucking tired to think too much about it, so he moseyed his way upstairs. The guy let him in and Barry thanked him as politely as he could muster. Barry had just locked and bolted the door when he heard another open behind him. The noise must have woken Mick up.

“Hey.” Barry said as he removed his jacket, not bothering to turn yet. “Snart said he tried to call y-“

The words turned into a surprised yelp when Mick grabbed his arm and forcibly turned him around. Barry had no time to really compute what was happening; his face was just suddenly pressed into Mick’s bare shoulder, and the Marshal was wrapped around him like never before. Mick hugged him so tight.

“Scared the crap outta me...” Mick muttered.

For a lack of anything to do, Barry reciprocated the embrace. It had to be frightening to witness, that Barry had already established for himself, but that Mick had been  _ this _ affected by it? He hadn’t seen that coming. He had expected maybe a three second hug and perhaps a heartfelt  _ ‘hey, I’m glad you didn’t die for real’, _ not a death-grip hug and relieved whispers in his ear.

But after all, Mick did say he still loved Barry, so maybe this reaction shouldn’t have been totally unforeseen.

Mick pulled out of the hug. Instead, he scanned over Barry with desperate eyes, hands running over his hair and face, as though to make sure he was really  _ real. _

“You okay?” he asked. “Tell me you’re okay.”

Barry nodded, hands coming to rest on Mick’s arms. “I’m okay.” he assured. “Caitlin said everything looked normal.”

A breath of relief poured out of Mick, as he pulled Barry into another hug. This one was not as tight, which Barry appreciated. He kind of enjoyed, y’know,  _ breathing. _

“It’s okay.” he said again. “I’m okay.”

Then Mick’s mouth was on Barry’s and... _and everything fell away. _

Mick tasted like morning breath, remnants of coffee and toothpaste and the shitty menthol cigarettes he always denied that he smoked. The taste of him was nothing like Barry remembered, yet he realized how much he had somehow missed it.  _ Ached _ for it, for the taste of  _ Mick _ to fill his mouth.

While  the Marshals hands stayed planted firmly on Barry’s hips, Barry’s own hands wandered. They felt over the hard plains of Mick’s chest, where thick muscles made the hairs on Barry’s arms stand on end and the touch to his sensitive nipples made Mick moan. His fingers slid over the scars on Mick’s face, nails dragging across his scalp.

It was good. The taste of Mick’s tongue, his strong hands that would probably leave dots of bruises. It was better than good; it was  _ pure. _ It forced all the noise out of Barry’s head until there was nothing but  _ Mick. _ All he wanted, needed, was an hour of that purity, no more. After, he would be settled again; he would be able to get things right in his head again. He just needed that break from reality, where the silence was.

This was probably bad. Probably  _ very  _ bad, and Barry knew it. Things were messy enough as they were, without sex to make it worse. But Barry wanted it. He’d wanted it for forever, even though it was a horrible, terrible idea. He wanted it so bad he was ready to fucking explode! Four and a half years of nothing but his hand and memories, in the so-called  _ privacy _ of his bunk in prison...damn right he was about to cum at the slightest touch. Especially if Mick was the one doing the touching.

He didn’t for the life of him want to break away from their now fervent kissing, never in a hundred years, but sadly, oxygen was kind of a  _ thing _ so in the end Barry had no choice. That, of course, didn’t mean he stopped trying his hardest to grind their bodies together, nor did it mean he didn’t start licking and biting and  _ kissing _ every inch of skin that covered Mick’s neck while reeling for air.

Mick didn’t seem to mind the break, going by the rough moan he filled the air with. His hands found Barry’s ass,  _ a mean squeeze and hard grope, _ and Barry turned to jelly. His whole body seemed to go lax at the implication,  _ hands on his ass, then mouth then fingers then cock, God, he could beg for it. _ Barry tore his hands away from Mick’s body. Had to get his jeans off, get all these stupid clothes off, why was Barry still wearing clothes, hated them so much right now, fucking clothes, fuck clothes.

Mick let out a sharp grunt, as he lead Barry into a particularly hard roll of his hips. Barry’s boxers were doing little to protect from the scrape of his zipper, but it felt so fucking good when Mick’s hard cock slid against his own.

“Get your fuckin’ pants off.” Mick grunted.

Barry couldn’t breathe. It was so easy; so easy to fall back into it, under Mick’s spell. Just the sound of his voice when he talked like that...it pulled Barry right back in and bewitched him all over again. Like a rope was tied around his ankles and an anchor thrown into the sea; he sank, he sank so fast and so deep. The icy water filled his lungs and made him shiver, but as Mick’s voice reached his ears, it began to boil. A fire under the earth that cooked him as he sank even deeper into the sea.  


He wanted it, no, he  _ needed _ it! He needed Mick to fuck him hard and fast and  _ angry. _ Barry always liked it when Mick got angry; that meant he got mean, and fucked Barry even harder to get back at him.  


“Fuck me,” Barry moaned, finally able to speak when Mick decided to do to Barry’s neck what Barry had done to his. “-like you hate me.”  


Mick squeezed his ass harder, hard enough to make Barry hiss, just as he bit into the flesh of his neck. That was going to leave an awkward bruise, Barry was sure.

_ “I hate you.” _ Mick responded, teeth rasping over the soreness of that bite.

Barry let out a breathy sigh, back arching him into Mick’s body, at the poison mix of  _ despisal _ and  _ desire_. Just his voice around those words could make Barry quiver. He ached for Mick. The caress of his voice, the burn of his hands, the bite of his lips. Barry finally got his jeans undone; Mick shoved them down his legs as fast as he could, dragging his boxers down with them. Barry moaned again when his cock bobbed free, and once more when Mick  _ kneeled. _ And yet again, when a hot mouth devoured him. His tongue moved sloppily over Barry’s cock, while he forced it down his own throat; like he wanted to take it as deep as he could. Barry had no problems with that.

“ _ F-Fuck! _ ” Barry gasped, when Mick pulled back for a moment to spit into his hand.

He gasped again, as the minutely slicked hand shoved his legs apart and crept up between his asscheeks to run over his opening. A rough finger pushed into him as that perfect mouth closed over his cock again. It was almost too hard, too tight, too hot, too much, but he was physically unable to complain as soon as Mick started actually work him open. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time before Barry whined, fireworks exploding behind his eyes. He chased for air, body rocking with something close to convulsions when lightning bounced between every nerve-ending in him. It crept over his skin and exploded again and again as Mick swallowed down all that Barry gave.

Mick was back on his feet in no time, though. He started to pick at the rest of Barry’s clothes, moving Barry’s limbs for him. His whole body was soft and pliant, muscles to washed with bliss to tense and protest. Barry was certain he had never had an orgasm that good, and yet the haze only lasted for a few seconds, as though entreating him to hunt for  _ more. _ The rude awakening could also have something to do with the sharp sting of pain that came when Mick ripped one of the stickers on his chest.

“Ow!” he shouted and tried to shove him away, a reflex reaction.

“Shut up, ya big baby.” Mick muttered and proceeded to rip the other one off as well.

_ “Ow!” _ Barry shouted again.

“Want me to hate ya?” Mick asked, balling the stickers up and tossing them to the side. “ _ Fuckin’ hate me back. _ ”

Barry glared at him, as he undid the belt that now just seemed to make it hard to breathe.  _ Okay. _ Barry could hate too. Barry was good at hate. Barry had a talent for hate.

It almost felt good to slap Mick. The clash of skin on skin, while a stray few drops of cum sauntered down Mick’s chin. Mick didn’t say anything, didn’t make a noise. So Barry did it again.

Before he knew it, Mick’s hands were fisting in his hair and Barry could taste himself on Mick’s tongue right beside the coffee and menthol. Barry growled at it, at Mick for being a fucking dickhead, and at  _ how fucking good it felt _ to have angry sex with Mick again. He sank his nails into Mick’s head, forcing him to come  _ closer _ , if that was even possible. They collided so hard it almost hurt. Their heads bumped together as they scrambled for  _ more more more more. _ Mick started walking, stumbling morel like it, and Barry didn’t know what to do other than  _ go with it. _

He grunted in pain when he was thrown against a door, the handle catching his side. He felt Mick’s hand over the pained area but Mick didn’t care about him, only about getting the door open. They almost hit the floor as the door swung open into the bedroom. Barry shuffled backwards,  _ pretending _ he was fighting Mick for dominance in the kiss by biting at his lips, until his legs hit the side of the bed and he fell back. Mick let go of him and let him fall.  _ Didn’t matter; _ Mick looked angry and Barry felt angry and Mick’s cock was hard in his boxers and Barry thanked God for his long dry-spell because he was already so fucking hard again and weeping precum.

Barry rolled over and got on his knee, face against the mattress, while he could hear Mick rife around in the drawer of his nightstand. Cold lube dripped on his ass and he felt Mick smear his fingers through it before two were suddenly pressing into him. The air lodged in Barry’s throat, coming out as a strange mix of choked gasps and whines.

Even after close to five years, it seemed like Mick remembered just how to make Barry melt. His fingers moved in the perfect way, finding that sweetest of sweet spots in an instant and playing with it like he’d never done anything else, while his other hand toyed with Barry’s cock; soft touches became rough because of calloused fingertips, and when they ran over the head, Barry shivered inside out and pushed back on the fingers in his ass until they hit his prostate again. Every wave of pleasure that hit Barry seemed to be absolute perfection that could never be beaten, yet the next swell was  _ better. _ Better, and better, and better, until nothing else could possibly exist, because  _ how _ could anything exist  _ outside this room or this moment? _ This moment, when Mick,  _ perfect perfect perfect perfect Mick, _ was with him again.

As the thought crossed his mind, he had to shudder. Not at the thought itself, but at Mick, withdrawing his fingers. The bed dipped behind him where the man kneeled. Barry gasped at the feeling of Mick’s cock, dragging slowly down the cleft of his ass. Teasing, taunting, wordlessly telling him to  _ beg. _ And Barry had no problem begging to Mick.  


“Fuck, please, please, _please, Mick!”_ his mouth was rambling before his brain could form more coherent words. “Fuck, _Mick,_ please, _give it to me, please._ Fuck me, please, _need you, baby, please!”_

Mick said nothing. The begging was satisfactory, though. Barry could presume as much, at least. He felt Mick’s cock against his rim for a split-second. The next, he felt Mick’s hips against him as he finally bottomed out.  _ Fuck, Mick was inside him, Mick’s cock was inside him, Barry had Mick inside him again, Barry had Mick again. _

It was impossible to breathe, to think, to do anything other than lay there and bask in perfection.

Barry hissed at how Mick moved inside him, when the Marshal grabbed one of his arms and pulled him up to stand on his knees. Mick seemed to eclipse Barry when they were like that; Barry pressed back against his broad chest, with the man’s filthy mouth moaning in his ear. Fuck, Barry needed that mouth, he needed to taste Mick and himself and the divine mix they made on his tongue. He twisted his body as much as he could, fuck the ache it made in his back, and slung his arm around Mick’s neck.

This had to be Heaven.  _ It had to be. _ Couldn’t be anything else. With how Mick’s cock stressed against his prostate and forced bliss out of it, with how Mick’s hands were pinching at his nipples and palming at his cock, with how Mick’s mouth was feeding his desire and fueling the fire, how could this be anything other than Heaven?

*

Mick was asleep.

Barry wanted to sleep too. It was a bad idea, though, to sleep in Mick’s bed. Well, less bad than having sex with Mick, but still very bad.

The sex was...it was amazing. Better than any sex Barry could remember ever having, which was saying something because he and Mick used to have some pretty awesome sex. But as stated, it had been a very bad idea. Things were messy and complicated between them, there was a lot of pain and hurt and anger, and sex was no way to solve those problems. Even Barry,  _ the King of Bottled Up Emotions and of Ignoring Personal Emotional Pain, _ knew that.

Sex made messy situations even more messy. It always did. It was one of the less enjoyable parts of sex.

Barry didn’t want to make things messier than they already were. He didn’t want to fuck up Mick’s life any more than he already had. He didn’t want to ruin Len’s project. Barry just...

Barry just wanted to get through the project, get his parole, and for once in his life, live a normal, quiet life where no one ever got hurt because of him.

He slipped out of Mick’s room and collected his clothes in the hall. He had to get some sleep; doctor’s orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM TRASH


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick note:  
> I'm sorry.

_ Five years ago... _

 

_ Everything hurt. _

_ Why did  _ everything _ hurt?  _ Oh, God _...his whole body felt like it was on fire. Just breathing stung like hell. _

_ Barry groaned as he wrenched his eyes open. _

_ What...? _

_ Wh-Where was he? What happened? _

_ Crumpled up metal, fire, the stink of gasoline and upholstery burning,  _ painpainpainpain _, his head was exploding. _

_ Barry whined as he lifted his head to look around. The wall...why...why was his car halfway into a concrete wall? Wait...the race. There was a race, right? And, and he was driving, and it was going fine...and something happened. Had to, right? Wouldn’t be staring into a wall if nothing happened, right?  _ Right. _ So...he totaled the car. No biggie. Clyde had the truck back at the starting line. He’d pull up and they’d just tow it back to the shop and...and do  _ whatever. _ Fine. It was fine. Super fine. It was Barry’s car anyway. Not like it mattered. _

_ Clyde and Mark and Wally would help him out. They’d fix it. And really, it was good. Good learning opportunity for Wally. About time that kid got a first hand look at a proper wre- _ Wally. _ Wally? Wally, Wally, Wal- _

 

** WALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLY **

_ was in the car. _

 

** WALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLY **

_ was riding shotgun. _

 

** WALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLYWALLY **

_ was beside him. _

 

Slumped, covered in glass, metal, shrapnel, blood, oh, God, look at his head, gash, big gash, very big gash, no, oh, God, no, why, Wally, no.

_ Barry could hardly move. Battery acid flowed through his veins, eating him up, as he extended his arm. _

_ “Wa-Wally...Wa-“ _

_ The smoke filled his lungs. It burned as though it was the fire that had created it. _

_ The leather of Wally’s jacket was slick with blood. Barry’s hand slipped over it, jostling the teen. He got a hold of the collar and gripped it as tight as his shaking hands could. _

_ “W-Wally...Wally!  _ Wally!”

_ He had to stop again. The coughs rocked through his body like earthquakes. He shook Wally as hard as he could. His eyes were closed. He was unconscious. Please let him be unconscious. Just unconscious, passed out from that hit to the head, knocked out cold for a little while. _

_ “Wake up! Wally, Wally, wake up! C’mon! We gotta go!” _

He’s just passed out. Just asleep. He’s just asleep. It’s okay.

_ Barry shook him harder. _

“Wally! _ Wally! Wally, please wake up! Wake up! We gotta- gotta go, man!” _

_ Why wasn’t he waking up? He just had to wake up!  _ Just wake up!

 _ Barry had to get out of the car. If he got out, he could pull Wally out and wake him up and get him home and fix him up and it would be fine. He’d be fine.  _ Wally would be fine. _ Barry would be fine.  _ They’d all be just fine and okay.

 _ Fuck, his body pleaded at him not to move. It begged and screamed at him to stop moving. Barry couldn’t listen. He couldn’t listen to his stupid body. He had to get out and  _ help Wally. _ He had to help Wally. He wiped the wetness from his face, hands coming back red with blood. He got his seatbelt open; the clasp on his chest was hot to the touch, the fabric of the straps looked close to melting, he got them off himself as fast as he could before they stuck to his clothes. Barry rammed his shoulder into the door. It was stuck, jammed shut. He coughed; the air and smoke felt like sandpaper in his throat. The fire was spreading. His head was pounding. The window was already shattered. He hit the remaining shards as hard as he could with his elbow, clearing the way a little more. It was hard to move. The airbag had deflated, tangled around his body, and the steering wheel pressed against his leg. _

_ A pained scream erupted from Barry’s mouth as he put all his power into pushing the steering wheel upwards. He leaned into it, pushed and pushed and pushed despite how his eyes overflowed with tears and how his body flooded with pain. He had to get his leg free. Had to free his leg so he could climb out and pull Wally out and wake him up. The steering shaft must have cracked in the wreck, because with a loud bang something  _ snapped _ inside the dash and Barry could move the wheel. A relieved breath entered him as some of the pain was taken away, but that only lead to more coughing, as smoke filled his lungs instead of oxygen. _

_ Barry hauled himself through the window. Glass dug into his hands where he rested them on the window frame. Didn’t matter.  _ Had to get to Wally, pull him out, wake him up, get him safe. _ Whatever ribs weren’t already broken, felt like they snapped when Barry tumbled to the ground. He landed on his back with a wheezing groan. Glass scraped over his head, and his back where his jacket and shirt rode up. He rolled over, knives stabbing in his chest as his ribs were pressed to the ground. None of it mattered, Barry just had to  _ get to Wally.

 _ He staggered to his feet. He couldn’t see straight. He must have hit his head too. Everything was blurry and too loud and too bright; the fire shone like spotlights right into his eyes, blinding him, and every sound was like a foghorn right next to his ear, deafening him. Barry stumbled around the car, hands over his ears to try to mute some of the ringing. Wally’s door was caved in, dents and ripples deforming the blue metal. He tried to get it open but just like his had been, it was jammed shut.  _ The window! _ The window was cracked to hell and back, but hadn’t shattered. Barry beat on it with his hands, smearing blood across the glass. Why wouldn’t it just break?! Just break!  _ Just break already!

_ He struck it with his elbow; once, twice, thrice, four times before it finally fell to pieces. Glass shattered back at Wally, but that was the least of their troubles. Barry tried to speak, yet as soon as he opened his mouth, all that came out was another rolling wave of coughs. Blood and spit flew from his mouth, Barry wiped his face with his sleeve, he reached into the car. _

“Wally!”

_ His voice was coarse and rough. _

_ “Wally! Wally, c’mon!” _

_ He shook the boy again. He got the clasp on the belt open. _

_ “Wa-...Wally. Wally, please...c’mon.” _

_ His chest wasn’t...it wasn’t rising and falling with breaths. Why...why wasn’t it? Why was he so still? _

No _...no, no, Wally, no, Wally, _ please, _ no,  _ don’t...

 _ Barry’s fingers were shaking when he rested them on Wally’s neck. Find the pulse,  _ just find the pulse, _ there has to be a pulse, there has to be a pulse because Wally was alive, Wally was alive, he was just hurt,  _ he had to be alive.

_ Why wasn’t there a pulse? _

_ “Wally...? Wally? Please...no.” _

_ Barry’s voice was wet with more than blood that time. Tears and pain and sadness stained it. _

_ Wally, no, no, no, please, Wally, come back, please, don’t, Wally, c’mon, no, please, come back... _

“No, no, no, no, no!” _ Barry begged, grabbing at Wally’s jacket and shaking him again. “Wake up!  _ Wake up, Wally! _ Wake up!” _

_ This couldn’t be happening. Couldn’t be right. It was all wrong. Wally had to wake up. He had to wake up! _

_ Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

_Barry staggered back. His heel hit something and he fell flat on his ass. Wally...Wally was dead. _ Wally was dead. _ Wally was dead and he wasn’t waking up and...and it was Barry’s fault.  _ All Barry’s fault. _ He was driving. Why did he drive? Why did he crash? He could’ve swerved, could’ve hit the breaks, could’ve bailed, could’ve kicked Wally out and bailed, bailed and let the car crash and Wally would’ve been alive. A hundred things he could’ve done and Wally wouldn’t be dead. _

** Wally was dead. **

_ Wally was dead and Barry killed him. _

** Barry killed Wally. **

_ Sirens wailed in the distance. Through the yellow glow of fire, Barry could see...red and blue, shimmering in the sky. Engines roared, sirens screamed, voices somewhere far away. The cops...cops with guns and handcuffs to take Barry away because he killed Wally. _

_ He was running. _

_ Barry was running and his lungs fought for air and his legs begged to stop and he was a murderer and the cops were coming and and and and and- _

_ * _

_ Mick hated it when Barry had to work nights. He hated it when Barry stayed at the shop all night. Mick had to eat dinner alone and go to bed alone, and he could never sleep without Barry there. _

_ But it was a good thing, really. It was good that Barry had to work nights sometimes. It meant that there were so many customers and so many cars to work on, that there wasn’t enough time in the workday to cover it all. They had to work nights now and then, because business was so good. _

_ Mick was happy for Barry, and Mark and Clyde and everyone at the shop. They loved that business and what they did there. Sure, to Mick, and probably everyone else, it was just any old auto-shop where they changed tires and oil, buffed out dents, and fixed scratched paint. But to Mark and Clyde, it was the family business and they loved it, and they loved the work that would seem menial to anyone else. And Barry was like a brother to them, and they to him. It was his family business too, and it was work he loved. _

_ It was great and he was happy for them and all, but like he said...he couldn’t sleep without Barry next to him. It was a lot harder to fall asleep without Barry curled up against him, the kids hair tickling his nose, and his soft breaths lulling Mick to rest. _

_ So he was reserved to the couch for a while longer, until he was too tired to keep his eyes open. Then, he could shuffle off to bed and pass out, and wake up again at dawn when Barry was trying to sneak in under the covers to get some rest for himself. _

_ Mick flipped through the channels. Uch, midnight TV sucked. Nothing good was on. Just reruns of shitty old shows, and terrible movies running for the hundredth time. Everything good had long since ended. Might as well watch the news channel...who knows? Maybe the monotone voices of the anchors would bore him to sleep. Hm, same stuff as the evening news, really nothing new. _

_ Oh, what was this? Illegal street racing? Some racer crashed their car and,  _ Christ, _ killed the passenger,  _ a nineteen year old kid. _ Fuck...that sucked. Someone so young, killed in a senseless accident in the chase of a momentary thrill, the hunt for an adrenaline rush. So stupid... _

_ They cut to a reporter on the scene; the place was bathed in red and blue, cop cars, as the camera panned. Jesus, there wasn’t much left of the car. The idiot ran it right into a fucking wall.  _ And ran for it?! _ What an asshole. They killed a kid, then ran for it to save their own skin. Who the hell could do something like that? _

_ Wait...that car. Mick sat up and leaned in closer to the TV. He could swear he knew it. He  _ recognized _ it. Wasn’t...wasn’t that in Barry’s shop, just earlier that day? When Mick dropped him off after lunch and went in to say hi to everyone, and... _ yeah, that was the car! _ That’s the car! It’d been up on blocks right in the middle of the shop, with Clyde busy under the hood. Even with how crushed and crumpled up the  _ thing _ on the screen was, Mick didn’t doubt that it was the same car. Didn’t...didn’t Barry say that thing was just some old piece he picked off the scrap heap to restore and sell? _

_ But that had to mean..._oh, God, _ the kid, the kid that died. It had to be..._ what was his name again? _ Mick didn’t know him too well.  _ Wally! _ That was his name, right? The kid they had helping out at the shop. It had to be him. And...shit. Barry was the driver, wasn’t he? _

_ Mick was speechless. Dumbfound. Heartbroken. Wally,  _ just a kid, _ was dead and Mick’s fiancé was responsible. He just...it was just...he couldn’t- _

_ He couldn’t wrap his brain around it. _

_ So Barry lied about working that night, and went out to race? That hurt. Mick’s fiancé was a liar and a criminal. All Mick could hope for was that  _ this _ was the first time. That this was the first time Barry lied and the first time Barry raced. But...Mick wondered. He didn’t want to wonder. He wanted to believe in Barry and trust him, but  _ this _ made that pretty goddamn difficult. _

_ Had Barry raced before? How many  _ ‘nights at the shop’ _ were actually nights spent racing? How long had he lied? Was this,  _ the stupid, reckless street racing, _ the only criminal activity Barry was mixed up in or was there more? Was there more he’d lied about? Was Mardon Motors just some run of the mill chop-shop? _

_ How  _ much _ was just lies? Was he...was he just using Mick? Using him as some..._ some fucked up cover _, because who would believe a _ U.S fucking Marshal _ married a  _ fucking criminal?

 _ Mick didn’t want to wonder. Mick wanted to believe in Barry. Wanted to believe Barry was better than that, that he was  _ smarter _ than that, that...he hadn’t lied about  _ everything. _ Was it all just lies? Did he even  _ care _ about Mick at all? Or was Mick just another gullible idiot?  _ Sure as hell fucking felt like he was.

_ His eyes stung with tears. The ring on his finger felt as though it had been held under a blowtorch. It burned his skin, made his whole body ache. Mick couldn’t get it off his finger fast enough. _

_ * _

_ Barry leaned mostly on his left leg. The right still hurt like hell from how the steering wheel had pressed on it. Didn’t feel like anything, other than a few ribs, was broken, so that was good at least. His hands were shaking, he fumbled with the keys. Fuck, he hoped Mick was asleep. Passed out on the couch or something. _

_ He was an idiot! Why the hell did he go home? Should’ve headed for the shop and hoped one of his friends spotted him on the side of the road. But...his feet had steered him home and his legs wouldn’t stop running until he was inside the building. He hadn’t had any control over himself. His body had just...had a mind of its own. _

_ The door unlocked with a muted click. He opened the door as silently as he could. He was relieved when the apartment was dark and quiet. Mick must have gone to bed, thank God. Barry toed out of his shoes to move more quietly. He shuffled blindly towards the bathroom with ease; they’d lived in that place for a year now, he could navigate it in his sleep. _

_ He would just...clean himself up a little. Wipe the blood off his hands and his face, then he’d head out again and find his way to the shop. When he got there...they’d figure things out. Had to figure things out. Had to...had to do something. Something, anything. _

Oh, God, he couldn’t breathe. He killed Wally, he was a murderer, he killed smart, kind, innocent Wally in a stupid, stupid, stupid street race because he was an idiot. He was an idiot and a murderer and he didn’t deserve to be alive. He didn’t deserve to be walking around when Wally was gone. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, he was so fucking stupid, why did he let this happen?! Why did he let Wally come with him?! Why did he...why didn’t he do something? Anything? Why did he let Wally die?

_ Barry’s heart nearly stopped when the light in the living room turned on. He turned on his toes as fast as he could, and...and saw Mick sitting there. On the low coffee table before him, lay four things; his star, his handcuffs, his gun, and...his ring. _

_ Fuck... _

_ “So I was watchin’ the news.” Mick said, hands tightly clenched in his lap. “And there was this...car crash.” _

_ Any air that still remained in Barry’s lungs, left then. Mick knew. Mick knew Barry was a liar and a criminal and a killer. Barry wanted to throw up. He disgusted himself. _

_ “It was Wally. Wasn’t it?” Mick asked. “The kid. And from the state of ya, I’m guessin’ you were drivin’.” _

_ Barry couldn’t move. His body was completely frozen. _

_ Mick got up. He put the star on his belt, and the holster on his hip. Barry stared at the cuffs in the Marshal’s hand. _

_ “Tell me one thing.” Mick said. _

_ Barry’s eyes flit back up to look at his face; Mick’s handsome face, made to turn Barry’s stomach with how angry it appeared. _

_ “Was this, _ any of this,” _ he bit, gesturing between them. ”-real?” _

_ “I...I-” _

_ Barry couldn’t make the words come out. They seemed to be lodged in his throat, and he was choking on them. His face was getting wet again, and not from blood this time. The tears felt like acid on his cheeks. Mick took a deep breath, nodding jerkily as though silence was answer enough. _

_ “Turn around.” he ordered, as he stepped around the coffee table. _

_ The cuffs clinked in his hand. _

_ “Mick.” Barry choked out. “ _ Please. _" _

_ The Marshal bit his cheek, hands clenching at his sides. “ _ Turn. Around. _” Mick ordered again. _

_ No...no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Couldn’t be right. _

_ But it was, wasn’t it? It was the right thing. Barry was a killer. He deserved to be locked up and the key thrown away. Deserved to die like Wally had.  _ He didn’t deserve to live. _ How could he live? How could he live, with Wally’s death on his conscience? How could he ever live with himself? Live, knowing he murdered Wally? Might as well have held a gun to his head, because Barry killed him. But goddamn, did it have to be Mick? Barry could stand being arrested by anyone,  _ he’d take it, he wouldn’t fight it, he’d go willingly, he’d go down on his knees and surrender to God himself, _ but not Mick. Anyone but Mick. _

_ “Mick...” he pleaded quietly, still choking on his words. “Y-You don’t h-have to do this.” _

“Yes, I do.” _th e Marshal said, voice flat and dead. “Turn around.” _

“Please.”  _ Barry pleaded again. “Mick. Anyone but you. I’ll go willingly, _ I swear, _ but please...not you.” _

_ Mick carried a stony look. Too hard and neutral to be real. Couldn’t he just call the cops? Barry would sit and wait in silence. He would let Mick hold him down at gunpoint if it made him feel better. _

_ “Barry Bolt, turn around,” the Marshal ordered one more. ”-and put your hands on your head. This is your final warning.” _

_ Barry’s heart stung as as Mick traded the cuffs to his left hand, resting the right on his weapon instead. _

_ “Mick, I-“ _

_ Barry wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but Mick didn’t care. He didn’t even hesitate to draw. Barry had never felt so much like a  _ disgusting, sickening waste of life _ as when Mick pointed the gun at him. He gripped it tight with both hands, stance immaculate and practiced, shoulders a little too tense, eyes a little too focused. _

_ “On your knees!” he ordered. “Hands behind your head!” _

_ For a moment, Barry considered trying to run. He wouldn’t get far, he knew that. But after what he did, suicide by cop seemed...apt. _

_ Then again, maybe that was unnecessarily cruel to Mick. He was just doing his job, his duty. It was Barry’s fault. All of it was Barry’s fault. He was so stupid. Such an idiot! How could he let this happen? How could he let any of this happen? _

_ He raised his hands slowly, interlocking his fingers behind his head. It took him a moment with how bad his leg was hurting but he managed to lower himself to his knees. _

_ Mick approached carefully, weapon trained at his fiancé. _

_ “Barry Bolt, you are under arrest on suspicion of illegal street racing, suspicion of grand theft auto, and suspicion of murder.” he read, tight and practiced, as he cuffed Barry’s hands one after the other. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. _

_ He grabbed Barry by the arm and helped him to his feet. _

_ “Do you understand the rights I just read to you?” he asked. _

_ Barry nodded silently. _

_ “I need to hear you verbally confirm whether or not you understand these rights as I have read them to you, sir.” _

Sir.

_ Distant. As if Barry wasn’t who he was. Like he was anyone else in the world but Mick’s fiancé. Then again, after tonight, Barry doubted  _ that _ was something he could call himself. _

_ “Yes.” Barry said, swallowing back the urge to vomit. “Yes, I understand.” _

_ “With these rights in mind, do you want to talk to me?” Mick asked. _

_ Barry shook his head, but upon remembering the lecture he was just given... _

_ “No. No...no, I don’t wanna talk.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick, somebody stab me in the face, im sure thatd hurt less than this


	26. Chapter 26

“Your journal’s looking good.” Caitlin said with a smile. “Steady numbers, that’s a relief.”

Barry nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been eating every three hours, like you told me.” he said.

The doctor hummed. “But are you sure you’re writing these amounts right?” she asked. “Ten bowls of cereal? Six grilled cheese sandwiches?  _ Two whole pepperoni pizzas?” _

Was that weird? Barry wasn’t sure. He just...ate until he was full. There had been an... _ increase _ in how much it took, he supposed, but he hadn’t really thought about it _. _ Hell, he hadn’t even really realized he was eating that much until  _ right now_, when Caitlin mentioned it.  _ Maybe it was weird. _

Yeah, most people probably didn’t two whole pizzas in one sitting, on their own.

“Yeah.” he said. “I guess it’s...a lot. Should I...cut down?”

Caitlin clicked her pen absentmindedly as she seemed to mull things over in her head. She leafed through the journal, looking through his eating habits and bloodsugar levels. Off the top of his head, Barry was pretty sure things had been stable since he started measuring. No peaks, no real valleys, and no crashes. That first crash had been uncomfortable enough for him to not gladly go through it again, so he had been good about things. Ate as often as instructed, made sure what he ate wouldn’t mess his levels up, checked his levels before and after every meal, kept an eye on his weight. As far as he knew, thing should be  _ perfectly fine. _

“Have you gained any weight?” she asked.

Barry shook his head quickly. “No. It’s steady. No fluctuations, or anythin’.” he said.

She hummed again. “I think you should continue like you are.” she said, closing the journal and passing it back to him. “Your numbers are steady, weight is consistent, so...I don’t think eating this much is hurting you in any way. Doctor Snart told me the treatments could affect your metabolism, but I didn’t expect it to increase your intake quite this much. So...like I said, just keep going as normal, but do let me or Snart know if you notice any other major changes in your intake, numbers, weight, anything like that.” she lectured and Barry nodded along, listening intently. “And don’t stay in the workshop for too long today. You need your rest. The first test is scheduled for tomorrow.”

“And...what is the test?” Barry questioned. “No one’s really said anything about it before.”

“Well, it’s...” Caitlin began, but promptly stopped herself. “Doctor Snart asked me not to talk about it. He’s not...happy about it. He doesn’t like it. But he has a boss too.”

That all sounded... _very ominous. _ Barry wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

*

The Monstrosity was looking less and less like a monstrosity. Barry almost had all its innards fully refurbished. Soon, all he would have left to do, was turn it over to Mark and Clyde, to work over the rest. A lot of dents and scratches needed to be buffed out, the back bumper probably had to be replaced, the rear-view mirrors were hanging on by a thread. But...Barry’s part was almost done. Had a few things left to see to, but he’s get that done in another hour or so.

It was almost kind of...sad. What the hell was Barry supposed to do with all his time when he finished the Monstrosity? He wasn’t sure, really. There wasn’t much else he  _ could _ do, since he was confined to the apartment and the Lab. Maybe he could get his GED, like Len suggested. With all these geniuses around, he wouldn’t exactly be lacking in tutors if he needed them. Maybe...he could even start some online college classes or whatever, and get a degree in something.

Nah, that was all just daydreaming, he supposed. He’d never been to interested in school. When he was a kid, he really only went because it got him out of the house, away from Henry, then away from his foster families. Barry was all kinds of street smart, sure, but not so much book smart, or school smart. All his brains had to do with manual labor; working on cars, driving cars, picking cars apart and putting them back together. There wasn’t much else he knew how to do. Well...all the other stuff he did know how to do was illegal, so that could hardly be counted.

He could always ask around the Lab. Maybe more employees wanted their cars worked on, for free.

“Hey.”  


Barry looked up. _ Len. _

“Hey.” he responded with a smile.

Len wasn’t smiling. Len wasn’t even  _ close _ to smiling, it would appear. He was frowning, brows furrowed, and eyes cold in anger. The doctor pulled up one of the many wheeled stool around the workshop, taking a seat beside the open hood of the Monstrosity.

“What’s wrong?” Barry asked, leaning against the car and directing his full attention to Len. “C’mon. Been told I’m an excellent listener.”

“My boss is an  _ asshole, _ that’s what’s wrong.” Len snapped at him.

Barry said nothing. Len was obviously upset about something else; he didn’t take the outburst personal. He waited patiently, as Len sighed at his own behavior. The doctor dragged his hands over his face, like he could wipe away the anger if he tried hard enough.

“Sorry.” he said finally.

“Don’t worry about it.” Barry said sincerely, drying his dirty hands on a rag that was probably just as dirty. “So. C’mon. I’m listening.”

Len shook his head. “It’s just...we’re supposed to run a test on you tomorrow, to see if the treatments have had any of the desired effects on you.” he explained. “And I’m...”

“Not happy about it?” Barry parroted what Caitlin had told him, at which Len nodded slowly. “Why not? I mean, you’ll get to see if your serum works.”

The doctor sighed again. “But the way he wants to do the test...it’s  _ totally _ against every reason I’m doing this.” he said. “He wants me to  _ cut you. _ Just to see how it heals.”

 _ Shit..._well, whatever Barry had expected, _ that _ sounded worse. They were going to cut him open just to watch it heal. That was kind of...fucked up.

“He broke his back ten years ago and he’s been in a wheelchair ever since, and now...now he’s  _ obsessed _ with my work, this project. I mean, if it’s works, and it can let him walk again,  _ that’s amazing. _ A miracle! It’ll be exactly what I’ve worked for!” Len explained. “But... _cutting up an innocent person _ for it? I don’t think I can do that. And I thought...I  _ really _ thought I’d convinced him we could test it some other way.”

Barry was barely listening.

It was fucked up beyond belief, yes; them cutting him up to see if their drug would make it heal faster.

But it was worth it.

To Barry, it was worth it. He could take getting a little sliced up, if it was for the project. He could take any pain and torture in the world, if it was for the project. He  _ deserved _ it, anyway. And he deserved a hell of a lot more than  _ one cut. _ But one was better than none; it would do good for his repenting. One cut, a fraction of what he did to Wally. It was a start.

“I’ll do it.” Barry said.

Len’s eyes widened. He stared at Barry like he was crazy. Who knows? Maybe he was. Maybe all of this was driving him nuts. Felt like it sometimes.

“What?” the doctor said.

Barry shrugged. “I’ll do it.” he repeated. “If it’s for the project,  _ I’ll do it." _

Len gaped like a fish, mouth opening and closing as though he didn’t quite know what to say.

“You shouldn’t.” he said finally. “You can’t! I...I don’t want you to.”

“Well, I should, I can, and right now, I don’t care what you want.” Barry said. “I signed up for this.  _ I’m gonna see it through.” _

The doctor shook his head to himself, as he stood up again.

“You didn’t sign up for some fucking  _ live dissection!” _ he argued.

 _ “But maybe I deserve it.” _ Barry bit out.

He balled up the rag he had been wringing in his hands and threw it at the workbench. He turned away. Couldn’t look at Len.  _ Why did he say that? _ _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Should’ve kept his mouth shut.  _ Fucking idiot! _ He couldn’t do anything right. Couldn’t even bottle up his emotions right!

Barry flinched away when he felt a hand try to take his shoulder. The hand was snatched back quickly, as if burned.  _ Of course Len didn’t really want to touch him or be anywhere near him, stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking idiot, couldn’t do anything right. _

“Barry.”

The voice was soft. That wasn’t good. They were always soft and kind before they got angry. Soft touches and kind voices, soft voices and kind touches, always turned into angry yelling and bruises.

Barry shook his head. He stormed around the car to the drivers side, and climbed in. He slammed the door as hard as he could. The rear-view mirror fell off, no doubt shattering when it hit the concrete floor. Barry rested his forehead on the steering wheel, eyes falling closed.

_ He was an idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid idiot. _

The passenger side door opened. Barry listened to Len climb in and sit, the door closing quite softly behind him.

“Why would you deserve it?”

_ Why would you deserve it? _

What kind of question was that? Why the hell did Len have to ask that? He’d seen Barry’s record. He knew why Barry had been in prison. He knew what Barry did. Why did Len even care? Why did he care what Barry thought? Barry was just the test subject, the lab rat. He didn’t deserve that sympathy. Didn’t want it either. Didn’t want Len wasting his time on Barry.

“You know why.” he said, without lifting his head or opening his eyes.

“Because of Wally West.” Len said.

Barry’s whole chest clenched.

“Yes.”

He heard Len exhale a deep, long breath. Here it came; the part where Len told Barry how horrible of a person he was. The part where he told Barry how he wished it was Barry who died. The part where he called Barry names and hurt him. Barry waited. He deserved it all. He would take it without a fight.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

_ He was lying. _

“Yes, it was.”

_“No, it wasn’t.”_ Len insisted.

Barry scoffed. Why was he being so insistent? Trying to make Barry believe he was on his side.

“I looked at the reports before I came to see you at the prison.” Len continued. “I studied them very closely, actually. I had to make sure you were suitable for the project. And...after you told them you heard some loud bang in the car, the CCPD had a whole slew of mechanics and engineers come in to look at it. They all said the same thing. The CV joint on the right front wheel was defective before the race. The metal was brittle. It couldn’t handle the speeds a race like that demanded. It was a factory fault. The only reason you were charged with vehicular manslaughter is because you were behind the wheel. But the accident wasn’t your fault.”

_ “But I was driving!” _ Barry yelled at him, looking up at last.  _ “I _ was driving, it was  _ my _ car,  _ I _ saved it from getting compacted,  _ I _ put it back together,  _ I _ gave it the all-clear,  _ I _ should’ve seen it! I checked it a hundred times, and  _ I should’ve seen it!” _

He turned his eyes back to the steering wheel, burning with tears, knuckles going white at how hard he was gripping it. He was so angry; he’d never been that angry before! It might not be his fault, but it was still  _ his fault! _ The crash itself might not have been his fault, but everything leading up to it was. If he hadn’t found the car, no crash. Id he didn’t insist on fixing it up, no crash. If it wasn’t for him,  _ stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid idiot, _ no crash! There wouldn’t have been a crash without him! The car would’ve been scrapped and compacted, unable to hurt anyone.

“Barry, you might not like what I’m gonna say next, but I say it as a friend. As someone, who wants the best for you.” Len said. “I have a friend, I met him at a...a conference of sorts, a few years ago. He’s a psychologist. I think it would be good for you to see him. Talk to him.”

Another psychologist? Another doctor, another asshole just to tell him to  _ man the hell up. _

“I don’t need to be psycho-analyzed!” Barry bit.

“Barry, I’m just trying to-” Len attempted, as Barry felt the man’s hand on his arm.

Barry jerked his arm away.  _ “And I don’t need your help!” _ he added.

He climbed back out of the car. He’d probably regret it when he got an earful from his brothers, but he kicked the broken rear-view mirror. It hit the wall; what little glass wasn’t broken, shattered then, as did most of the plastic.

_ Where the hell was Mick? Barry wanted to go home. _


	27. Chapter 27

“Barry.”

_ Mh...no... _

“Barry, wake up.”

He wrenched his eyes open. Was it too much to ask for him to get to sleep in a little? Mick stood by his bedside, looking at him with furrowed brows and worried eyes.

“Mick...?” Barry grunted, voice tired and hoarse.

“Barry, you need to get up.” Mick said.

“What?” Barry asked. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, shuffling to sit up. “What’s goin’ on?”

Mick let out a heavy breath. He slumped into a seat on the edge of Barry’s bed. Barry could swear he heard plastic groaning at how hard the Marshal seemed to be gripping the phone in his hand.

“Henry.” he said. “My buddy called. The...the internal bleedin’ was a lot worse than they thought. Had to chopper him down to Central City General for surgery.”

Barry was certain the pacemaker was going to shock him, with how his heart staggered.

“A-And?” he choked out. “What’re they sayin’?”

Mick shrugged, seeming almost defeated. “Tried to call and check, but...they said they couldn’t say unless I was family.” he said. “I tried to play the Marshal card, but the nurse wouldn’t budge. Said I had to come in and show a badge if I wanted to know anythin’.”

“But...”

What was he trying to say? What was there to say? Barry was lost for words. He hadn’t thought about Henry since visiting him. He had...really only been on the edge of his seat, he supposed, waiting for Mick to tell him Henry was finally dead. But...Henry was in the city, maybe still alive.  _ Probably _ alive, Barry would guess. Henry likely still had Barry listed as next of kin. If he died, someone would have called Barry.

He was alive. Back to torture Barry again.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid to think Henry would ever let him go so easily. _ That he would ever give up the hold he had on Barry, that  _ he knew _ he had on Barry.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid to think Barry could slip away. Stupid to think he could forget and pretend and move on and put it behind him. _

“I...I was wrong.” Mick said.

Barry woke from his ruminations, eyes refocusing on the Marshal.

“I know what he did to you. I was wrong. Convincin’ you to go see him.” he said. “Shoulda been your choice. It was wrong for me to try and make it for ya.

Barry hated that his eyes were wetting. Henry was dying. His dad was dying. He hadn’t wanted to think about it, pushed those thoughts back when he sensed them beginning to creep up on him. But it was real. It was happening. Try as he might, he couldn’t escape that.

“We don’t have to go.” Mick said, taking Barry’s hand in his. “But we can if you wanna.”

*

_ He couldn’t believe he was doing this again. _

He was crawling back to Henry’s side, even after everything he did. After everything he put Barry through, Barry was still stupid enough to be there.

A sweet nurse walked them to the room. She explained what was going on, what to expect, how there wasn’t much of a chance that he’d make it. Of course, she put it more kindly than that. More so than Henry deserved.

He looked worse than ever before when they entered his room. He was still drugged out of his mind.  _ For the pain, _ the nurse had said. He was paler and... _thinner, _ somehow. Like a sheet of paper fighting the wind. Barry was nauseous. Just like they had the first time around, all the bad memories that he had fought to not think about daily came back with a vengeance, kicking down the doors of his mind and exploding like grenades.

Barry sat down next to the bed, in the chair that had practically been covered in his name. Mick stood by the door, waiting and watching patiently. Barry stared at his father. It didn’t seem as though he was going to wake up this time. The drugs probably kept him down. Barry was glad for it. He wasn’t sure he could take hearing his voice again.

“I...”

What was he trying to do? Talk to him? And say what? To what end? What point was there? It was unlikely that Henry could hear him, even more unlikely that he’d wake up and respond. He was going to die there, in that bed. It was almost guaranteed.

“I don’t...I don’t forgive you.” he said anyway, struggling, fighting with himself just to get the words out. “I’ll never forgive you. For anything. Not...not for me. Not for...for mom.”

He didn’t dry his cheeks. Henry deserved this; deserved to see what he did to his son. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t awake, Barry still wanted to show him what he did. What all the horrible things he did, did to Barry. He had ruined Barry.

Barry knew he was fucked in the head. All the abuse and the foster families and juvie...he was ruined before he had a chance. His brain was all kinds of screwed up before he could even understand what had been done to him; before he could understand that... _that, _ wasn’t how you were supposed to treat a child.

And now...he could barely imagine waking up in the mornings. There were too many dark clouds in his head, stormy thoughts making it hard to think straight. Maybe Len was right after all. A psychologist...maybe it was a good idea. Talking about things, it sounded horrible. Reliving all those terrible memories sounded like the worst kind of torture there was. But...it would let the clouds out. Like a pot of boiling water, removing the lid could ease the pressure. If he didn’t, it would, like the pot, boil over in the end. It would become too much to handle, soon enough. But now, he was still getting out of bed, walking around, he was still alive, so maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe it would...

Maybe it would help him do what he wanted:  _ put it all behind him. _

Then the only question that remained was... _did he deserve it? _ Any of it? Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, maybe he wasn’t the best judge; he was a little biased, after all.

“I love you, but I hate you.” Barry said. “You’re my father, but you’re a horrible human being. You didn’t deserve mom. You never deserved her. You never deserved  _ me. _ And  _ I _ certainly never deserved  _ you.” _

Barry got up. He was done. He was spent. There wasn’t enough left in him to just sit there, and stare at the man who destroyed his life.

Mick met him halfway, as though reading his mind. Barry all but fell into his embrace.  _ God, thank you, for perfect, perfect, perfect Mick, always there for Barry, even when he didn’t deserve it. _ He held onto Mick tightly, gripping at his shirt and jacket and anything he could get hold of to keep him from leaving again. His fingers met cold metal,  _ the gun, _ and his heart seemed to stop.

He snatched it out of the holster before Mick even knew what happened. He pushed the Marshal away, stomping back towards his father. He raised the gun.

_ He deserved it! Deserved to die for everything he did! He had no right! No right! No right to ruin Barry, destroy him, eat away all the good inside him until there was nothing but pain and anger and sadness left! It wasn’t fair! None of it was fair! _

“Barry! Barry, don’t do this!”  


He was right next to Barry, it seemed like. Barry could hardly see; the tears made everything fuzzy and unclear.

“Why?! Why not?!” Barry shouted.

_ His hand was trembling. His palm was sweat, he had to grip the gun so tight to keep from dropping it. It was so heavy. He didn’t realize how heavy it was. _

“He deserves it, I know that. I know!  _ He hurt you, Barry! _ He beat on you and your ma, but  _ don’t do this to yourself! _ Shoot him, and you’ll just go back to the Heights! And no one can pull you out this time! ‘Cause if you do this, it’ll be  _ murder! _ No self-defense, no manslaughter, no accident! It’s murder, and you’ll get another fifteen years.  _ And that’s if you’re lucky!” _

_ Who cares?! Who would care if Barry went to prison?! If it was for shooting Henry, it would be worth it. _

“Barry...he’s dying. He’ll be gone soon anyway. Barry,  _ please. _ Don’t do this to yourself. I’ll fight ya for the gun if I have to, but...I really don’t wanna. Please. Just hand it over.”  


But...

“Think about Nora.”

No...that wasn’t fair. He couldn’t say that.

“D’you really think...she’d want you to do this to yourself?”

Nora. Nora, Nora, Nora.  _ Mom. _

Too good for the world. Too good and too sweet and too kind and too loving. A warm light, snuffed out before her time by a monster. The monster she called husband and Barry called father. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Barry didn’t even  _ try _ to fight it when he felt Mick pull the gun out of his hand. He dragged Barry to his chest again, holding him as he cried.

“C’mon.” Mick said softly, whispering into the crook of Barry’s neck. “Let’s...go home. Rest. Got a few hours ‘fore they want you at the Lab.”

Rest...sounded nice. Maybe...maybe cry himself dry, so he wouldn’t have to cry anymore.

*

They lay together, in Barry’s bed. He curled up against Mick’s chest, crying into his chest, and Mick wrapped around him, like the best blanket in the world.

It was horrible. Horrible, awful, terrible, Barry’s stomach was doing backflips inside him, but...nice, too. In a way. Mick hushed him now and then, whispering that it was going to be okay. That,  _ somehow, _ it would all be okay.

No one was more surprised than Barry himself, when he found himself believing it to be true.

Somehow, everything would turn out okay.

Somehow, Barry would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, i used the word 'deserve' so many fucking times  
> Also, writing this made me sad :( I'm sorry Henry gets so much hate in this one


	28. Chapter 28

“Barry Bolt.”

Barry looked up.

He was sitting in the loading bay outside the engineering workshop, with a cigarette in his mouth. The guard tasked with watching his every move when Mick was busy elsewhere, stood by the door, with a cigarette of his own. But he hadn’t spoken.

The speaker, was an older man, forties maybe, in a motorized wheelchair. The smile on his face was undoubtedly meant to be kind and sincere, but it left Barry with a weird taste in his mouth; a taste that was a whole hell of a lot more disgusting than the one the cigarettes gave him, and  _ that, _ was saying something. Barry knew exactly who he was.  _ Eobard Thawne. _ He’d read the man’s autobiography in prison. Honestly, the most surprising thing about that, was that the prison library contained a book from this century. But Barry did what he found was often the best thing to do in situations where he may stand something to gain,  _ he played dumb. _

“Who’re you?” Barry asked, exhaling smoke as he spoke.

“I’m Doctor Eobard Thawne.” the man said as he rolled closer to the edge Barry sat on. “I own S.T.A.R Labs. Or, well, a majority of it. And I run it. Oversee all the work, all the projects. Make sure all the other geniuses get to put their brains to good use.”

Yeah, Barry could totally see why Len called him an asshole. Though, Barry probably would have gone with  _ slimy creep _ as a more suitable descriptor.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Thawne said, extending his hand.

Barry quickly traded the cigarette to his left instead, and returned the handshake.

“You too.” he said. “I guess.”

Thawne hummed. “Never heard of me?” he asked, at which Barry shook his head and Thawne chuckled. “Not surprising, I suppose.”

Barry just shrugged. Of course Thawne would act all high and mighty. Barry could smell the superiority complex on the pages of his book; which was also saying something, since most books from the prison library smelled like mold and bodily fluids Barry preferred not to discern.

“So, how’s the project treating you?” Thawne questioned. “I hear the treatments do quite a number on you.”  


Barry shrugged again. “It’s worth it.” he said. “Snart told me what it’s supposed to do, so...good of the many, I guess.”

“That’s very noble of you, Mister Bolt.” the doctor said. “Not many people would be of the same opinion.”

“Lucky I’m here then.” Barry said, hoping it was as dismissive as intended.

He’d talked to Thawne for all of two minutes and he could already feel the man shoveling bullshit down his throat. Barry knew exactly what Thawne was doing; feed him praise, make him feel good about himself, foster a positive relationship to ease the sway of opinions, promise rewards in exchange for compliance. Classic manipulation techniques. Barry had used the same techniques enough times to recognize when someone was trying to use them on him. But this was good. If Thawne was trying to manipulate Barry, he would be too busy to notice it if Barry decided to turn it back on him. The manipulator was always easiest to manipulate.

“I assume you know about today’s test.” Thawne said.

“Yeah.” Barry confirmed. “I know you’re gonna cut me.”

Thawne chuckled at that. “Sounds... _ vulgar _ , I know.” he said. “But it’s not as bad as it sounds, I assure you.”

Barry looked up at him, giving him a confused expression.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s three small cuts, on your chest. Sadly, one would not suffice. The evidence needs to be... _ substantial, _ for the project to progress, due to our agreement with certain governmental branches.” Thawne explained. “As always, the government doesn’t like to waste money. We have to convince them, that our project is worth paying for.”

Understandable. Barry didn’t see why Len had been so upset about it. Three small cuts, and they got to keep working.  _ Len _ got to keep working. Barry could take it. He’d been through worse and come out the other side in one piece. Hell, he’d been through worse in the project alone! If Barry wasn’t mistaken, he was wearing a pacemaker for a reason.

“We should be getting back inside. You need to be prepped for the test.”

*

This was a room Barry had never been in before. A large operating room; everything was bright and white and chrome, with all sorts of strange machines he didn’t recognize standing all around.

Barry was on the table, tied down like always. Len and Caitlin and a bunch of nurses were standing around him, and for whatever reason, they were fully dressed for surgery. Caps, glasses, masks, gloves, gowns, the whole nine yards. Barry assumed it was for the benefit of the shadowy figures he could see standing around the edges of the room, watching them. There was too much light on him, not enough on them, to make out any faces. But from what Thawne had said, they were government people, there to get their money’s worth.

It was... _ scary. _

A lot scarier than the treatments had ever been. No friendly faces to look at, no one to distract him with chit-chat, not with so many important people watching. He couldn’t see Mick anywhere, which frightened him. He wondered if the Marshal was with the shadow people, staring at him with worried eyes, or if he was outside the theater somewhere, pacing and waiting and smoking like a chimney like he always did when he was nervous.

“How are you feeling, Mister Bolt?”

That was Caitlin. She was on his left side. It was hard to tell the people apart when they were all dressed the same, faces completely covered.

“I’m fine.” Barry answered.

“That’s good. Just keep your breathing as steady and regular as you can.” Caitlin said. “We can’t administer any anaesthesia, as that could possibly interfere with the healing process. At this stage, we can’t say for certain either way.”

“That’s okay.” Barry said. “I can take it.”

The masked figure with Len’s eyes seemed to take a sharp breath. Barry ignored it. This wouldn’t take long.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, Mister Bolt, and I need you to answer loudly and clearly.” Caitlin continued. “For the records. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Barry said.

A heart monitor beeped somewhere out of his sight. It sounded... _ faster, _ than felt normal.

“What is your name?” Caitlin asked.

“My name is Barry Bolt.”

His throat felt dry. He tried to swallow a few times, but the dryness only seemed to morph into a tight knot.

“Do you know why you’re here today?”

“Yes.”

The beeping stuttered for a moment.

“You have been made aware that this test will include causing physical harm to your person, and that no analgesic will be supplied?”

“I’m aware.”

The sweat had to be pooling on the floor under the table. It felt like he was drowning in it.

“Do you consent?”

What? What did that mean? Were they really going to pretend this was  _ actually _ a choice? Barry might have hopped up on that table voluntarily, but he didn’t doubt for a second that Thawne wouldn’t  _ forcibly _ have put him there if Barry had tried to back out.

“Consent? To what?”

“For the record, you, Barry Bolt, consent to the intentional physical harm to your person, as part of this test?”

Like he said,  _ not really a choice. _

“Yes. I consent. I consent to it.”

“Thank you.” Caitlin said, though Barry noted how her voice wavered for the slightest moment.

She was probably in Len’s camp on this one. Barry supposed he could understand why this was hard for them. This drug was meant to heal people, and here they were, about to dig a scalpel into Barry’s chest for it.  _ But Barry had agreed to this! _ He literally  _ just _ gave them his consent.

Len scrubbed over Barry’s chest with disinfectant. The cold made him shiver for a moment. The smell was sharp, stinging his nose.

“Three incisions will be made.” Len spoke, as a nurse passed him a sharpie. “Here, here, and here.”

Barry could feel the lines bring drawn on his right pec, some inches below the collarbone.

“Approximately two inches in length.” the doctor added. “Nurse, are you ready?”

“Yes, doctor.” a man said, somewhere behind Barry.

He watch as Len traded the sharpie for a scalpel.

“Start the timers on my mark.” Len said.

The gloved hand felt odd on Barry’s chest. Lean fingers stretched his skin, as though it was fabric readied to be cut to pattern. He could hear how Len was struggling to keep his breathing steady. His hand never wavered, though. His hold on the scalpel was firm, never trembling. Yet, it hesitated. It lingered in the air, hovering over Barry like the blade of a guillotine.

“Len.” he whispered.

The doctor’s eyes whipped to meet his.

“It’s okay.” Barry said, voice low so no one but those around the table would hear. “I made you a promise.  _ I intend to keep it.” _

Len stared at him. He heard the doctor exhale slowly, and closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself.

Barry bit his tongue when the scalpel landed on his skin. There was no pain as it cut him. The blade was too sharp for that. The pain came once it was removed; when the wound lay open, weeping blood onto pale skin.

“Mark, timer one.” Len said.

Twice more, the scalpel touched him. Twice more, his skin was split open. Twice more, the steady hand never trembled. Twice more, sharp eyes flit to see Barry’s and twice more, Barry reassured him with a soft look.

“Volume of bleeding appears normal.” Caitlin said. “Hemostasis and vasoconstriction appears normal as well. Nurse, cottons pads, please. Let’s clear out some of the excess blood.”

“Agreed.” Len said.

They were careful not to touch him in that stage. They dabbed at him with wads of cotton clipped tight in long tongs. He could feel them wiping away the blood all across his chest, but stayed away from the cuts themselves. Barry would guess they didn’t want to interfere with them, as Caitlin had put it earlier.

“Mister Bolt, how do you feel?” Caitlin asked.

“Okay. I guess.” Barry said, careful not to move or twitch.

“Any unusual levels of pain, or pain in areas we have not touched?” she questioned.

“No. On both.” he replied. “It...stings. But it’s not too bad.”

Caitlin nodded. “Good.” she said. “Please alert us if there’s any change.”

“You’re up, Mister Ramon.” Len said.

Cisco was there too? Barry hadn’t realized.

“Yes, doctor.” the engineer said. “Here you go.”

A very big syringe, filled with a clear liquid, appeared in Len’s hand, traded for a set of tongs and bloodied cotton.

“What’s that?” Barry asked.

They said no analgesics, right?

Caitlin pat his arm. “Nanites. They’ll analyze the wounds from the inside and more accurately record the healing process.” she explained. “Once they’re no longer needed, they’ll be deactivated and your body will expel them naturally. It’s harmless, I assure you, Mister Bolt.”

His eyes flit from Caitlin’s, to the needle. It was a  _ very big _ needle. He looked up at Len instead. Harmless. Totally harmless. And again,  _ not much of a choice. _

“Okay.” he said lowly.

“Get some of this blood out of the way, please, Doctor Snow.” Len said, gesturing carefully with the pinky of his free hand. “I want to get a clear view.”

Caitlin was given new tongs with new, clean cotton. Barry bit his cheek as she dabbed gently at the cuts. She only wanted to get at the blood, without  _ interfering, _ like before. He looked away when Len brought the syringe down on him.

He could feel the metal slide in between the fold of open skin. It was an odd sensation. How it parted the walls slightly, forcing into the wound. It didn’t  _ hurt _ , per se. It was more...uncomfortable than painful. Len depressed the plunger, and ejected only a few drops of the liquid into Barry’s bloodstream. He repeated the procedure on the remaining cuts. The  _ oddness _ of how it felt didn’t pass.


	29. Chapter 29

This didn’t feel right, somehow.

Mick was moaning into his neck, struggling with Len’s tie, as Len tried to roll his body against the Marshal’s. Any other time, Len would be all for it; he would slap Mick’s hands away and deal with the tie on his own, he would be moaning and cursing as he felt Mick’s hard body press him back to the wall. But...Len just wasn’t feeling it. Mick hadn’t done anything wrong; actually, he did everything perfectly, he did everything he had learned Len liked. Biting more than kissing, fighting more than fucking, pushing and shoving to get them both where they needed to go. And yet...Len’s dick was dead to the world.  _ Strange. _

“Stop.” he said, giving Mick a small shove to put some space between them. “Stop, stop.”

“What? Did I hurt ya?” Mick asked quickly, concern evident. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I don’t know.” Len admitted with a shrug. “I just...I don’t know, I’m not feeling it.”

Mick cleared his throat, stepping back. “Okay. Why not?” he asked. “I mean...somethin’ goin’ on? Did...did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“No. No, no, no, no.” Len said, shrugging again. “You were good. I just...”

He moved away from where they had been standing, pressed to the wall beside the door. He straightened his tie, fixing the knot, and buttoned his shirt up again, as he circled around his desk. Mick zipped himself up again too, when Len sat down.

“I don’t know.” Len said again.

It was true. He had initiated the encounter; he had dragged Mick into the office and locked the door, then shoved his tongue down the Marshal’s throat. And yet, here they were. He  _ had _ felt something, he’d initiated for a reason, but it just...died out.

Mick sat down across from him.

“Is somethin’ goin’ on?” he asked. “You okay?”

Len let out a deep sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I’m fine, I’m just...a little on edge, I guess.” he said. “Thawne’s breathing down my neck about the project, and I’m...worried. About Barry.”

Mick’s brows furrowed. “Why? Did he say somethin’?” he asked.

“No.” Len said.

It was a lie, of course. The things Barry had said yesterday...they were still playing on repeat in Len’s head. Barry obviously had some deep seated guilt over what happened, which was understandable, but this...this adamant unwillingness to accept the truth? The fact that he couldn’t have known what was going to happen, and that he really played no role in the true  _ cause _ of the accident. Len was out of his element on that, which was why he had suggested consulting a psychologist.

Len wasn’t an idiot; if it came to it, he would inform Mick of what was going on. He hoped he could avoid it, though. It wasn’t Len’s place to say. He would try again. Try to convince Barry just to meet with a therapist, at least once, to get a grasp of what could be done to help him. If he failed...he would bring Mick in on things. Maybe he would have more luck on it. With the shared past between Mick and Barry, perhaps Barry would be more receptive to the idea of therapy if it came from Mick.

“It’s just, with the test and everything that’s happened because of the treatments...I’m worried about his health.” Len said, toeing the line of lying but not quite crossing it. “We’re only halfway through the treatments, and we have no way of predicting how the next one will affect him. Or the next,  _ or the next! _ We’ve run countless simulations, run treatments on cell samples and mice...none of the side-effects Barry’s experienced were really foreseen. The increased metabolism was expected, but not to the evident extent.  _ And the seizure and cardiac arrest were a complete blindside!” _

Mick nodded along slowly as Len rambled on. He let out a low hum when the doctor finally stopped to take a breath.

“I get it.” he said. “’M worried too, I guess. But...you guys take care of him. You have so far, and you’ll keep doin’ it. And I know I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He leaned back as well, though seemed almost defeated to Len’s eyes.

“And Barry  _ sure as hell _ ain’t gonna check out.” Mick said.

Len knew  _ that _ was true. As far as he could see, one of two things was happening; either Barry’s stubbornness was making him stupid and taking away his sense of self-preservation,  _ or _ he just  _ really _ wanted that parole. Hell, maybe it was actually a little bit of both.

“Which reminds me.” Len said, leaning back over his desk and clasping his hands tightly on the tabletop. “He’ll be confined to the recovery room for twenty-four hours, so we can monitor the healing.”

Mick nodded again. “Yeah. You guys sure your security can handle him?” He asked.

Len nodded curtly at that. “Yes. Guards will be stationed outside the room as usual, and check on him every half-hour. Plus, I will be coming in to check on him as well, every hour. I was planning on sleeping here.” he said, with a short gesture to the couch in the corner of his office.

The Marshal scoffed, smiling and shaking his head. “That uncomfortable piece of shit?” he said as he got up. “Well, my condolences to your back.”

“You’re going home?” Len asked.

“Yeah, thinkin’ ‘bout it.” Mick said, with a shrug. “’Less you want me stickin’ ‘round. Keep Barry in line.”  


Len shook his head. “No, you go.” he said and forced a smile onto his lips. “If he gets too rowdy, I’ll just sedate him.”

At that, Mick snorted, chuckling as he gave Len a short wave goodbye and headed out.

*

Mick was a little glad Len kicked him out. Well... _kicked _ and  _ kicked, _ he probably wouldn’t go that far. Whatever he was supposed to call it, he was glad for it. Mick was...exhausted.

After the shit at the hospital that morning and then the test...he needed to pass out for a while.

He’d been there to watch the test. Part of it, at least. He wanted to be there as some kind  _ emotional support or whatever, _ to Barry, even though he hesitated to say that Barry even knew Mick had been there. He’d lasted through the prep procedure, despite how his stomach knotted more and more for every second, and that whole consent conversation. But as soon as the scalpel came out... _Mick was gone. _ He  _ wanted _ to stay. Wanted to be supportive, after the mess Barry waded through earlier in the day.

And yet...he just couldn’t do it. He just  _ couldn’t _ watch them cut him,  _ hurt him. _ Didn’t matter how much consent Barry gave or how many times he said it was okay, Mick couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t bring himself to stand quietly aside while they hurt Barry. Mick’s insides twisted around themselves and it seemed as though someone put his lungs in a vice with how hard it suddenly became to breathe. Couldn’t inhale again until he was in the hallway.

He paced the hallways. When the itch in his fingers became too much, he headed outside instead. He had smoked close to half a pack of cigarette before Len texted him that they were done.

Mick couldn’t understand why Barry agreed to this, to being cut like a piece of meat. He wasn’t sure he could ever understand. Not if Barry didn’t talk to him. And Mick had told him he could talk to him, if he needed it. Of course, Barry was probably too proud to do it. Or just plain too stupid; too stupid to understand that if he felt like shit, that was a problem and something was wrong. Something that could be fixed, something could be done to...to keep him from feeling like shit anymore. If he’d just talk about it. Mick wouldn’t push the issue. Wouldn’t needle him about it. If he did, Barry would just push him away and clam up. Mick knew him well enough to know that.

*

Caitlin checked the tape for the hundredth time. The big cotton pad that covered the cuts was dotted in blood, small specks that had soaked through.

“Alright.” the doctor said finally, as she stepped back and removed her gloves. “We’ll change the dressing tomorrow morning, and Doctor Snart is spending the night at the Lab, so he’ll be in to check on it every hour.”

Barry hummed. “Does that mean I have to stay awake?” he asked.

“No. He just needs to get in proximity, a few feet, to be able to link up to the nanites.” she explained while tossing her used supplies in the trash. “Cisco hasn’t been able to widen their range yet, sadly.  _ But _ no, you can sleep all you like. I’m sure Snart will keep it down.”

He chuckled lowly. Just as he did, the door opened and Len,  _ speak of the Devil, _ walked in. He looked... _disheveled. _ Or what he supposed would be considered disheveled where Len was concerned; he always looked prim and proper, tie in a perfect Windsor, shirt immaculately ironed and tucked in, slacks pressed and not a single crease in sight, even his lab coat always looked freshly washed and ironed. But now...his tie was just slightly crooked, the lab coat seemed askew, and the pale blue shirt wasn’t as tightly tucked as usual.

The doctor cleared his throat and fiddled with the tie to try and center it again. “How does it look, Doctor Snow?” he asked, approaching the patient.

Caitlin grabbed her tablet, which had lain on Barry’s side table. “The healing process is progressing at normal rates.” she said. “He’s entered the inflammation stage, and epithelialization should start in four to five hours.”

“Sounds good.” Len said, then turned to Barry. “And how are you feeling?”

Barry shrugged. “Normal.” he said. “The pain’s passed. Only hurts if I move weird, or touch it, or whatever.”

“That’s good. Very good.” Len said, and cleared his throat another time.

“Do you...need me any more, Doctor?” Caitlin spoke up.

He shook his head quickly. “No. No, that’s alright.” He said. “You can go. I’m sure Ronnie will be glad for the short day.”

A bright smile filled Caitlin’s face. “I’ll be sure to let him know who he had to thank.” she said, giving Len’s shoulder a kind pet as she passed him on her way out.

A deep breath escaped Len when the door closed behind her. He seemed to almost... _deflate, _ in a way. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Barry’s bed.

Barry was pretty sure he knew where this was going. Len was going to want to talk about yesterday; about what he said, about what Barry said, and about  _ everything, _ really. It was stupid. Barry’s head had gone to a weird place, and it made him say some things he didn’t necessarily mean. He  _ did _ care about Len, and about what he wanted and thought and needed. He...he probably cared more than he’d like to admit. A lot more.  _ Oh, boy, that could be bad. _

Either way, Barry had made up his mind already. He was going to apologize for being an ass, and he was going to accept Len’s help.

“Barry, I-“

_ “Wait!” _ Barry interrupted quickly. “I...I wanna say some stuff and if I don’t say it now, I’m gonna wuss out and not do it at all, so...please.”

Len seemed reasonably caught off guard. But he took a deep breath, cleared his throat once again, and gestured for Barry to continued. Barry was grateful for that. He was about two seconds away from wimping out as it was, so he really couldn’t take an argument at the moment.

_ “I’m sorry.” _ Barry said.

The doctor’s eyes widened slightly. His tense shoulders relaxed. Instead of being up under his ears, he actually looked like a proportionate human being again. Barry looked away, though, down at his hands, and fingers that were picking at the seams of his covers.

“I...I was an asshole. And I was angry and upset and scared, and I just...I said some stuff I didn’t mean and I took out all those feelings on you. You didn’t deserve that.” Barry continued, feeling as though he was starting to ramble a little. “You  _ don’t _ deserve that, and I know that, but I was...so wrapped up in my head, I guess, and...things just got out of hand. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to look up again, to gauge the response. To see if Len was angry at him, or if he was upset, or, worst of all,  _ if he was pitying Barry. _ He didn’t want to be pitied. Just thinking about that possibility made his stomach ache.

But Len surprised him. There was no anger or pity. There was only a cautious smile, just barely crooking his lips and yet somehow illuminating his eye. Wait,  _ illuminating his eyes? _ Oh, no, very bad.  _ Very, very bad. _ Barry was waxing poetics. That could only mean very bad things.

“Thank you, Barry.” Len said. “That means a lot.”

Barry was the one to clear his throat then, his body stalling for him while his brain got over the slight short-circuiting he had experienced just by looking at Len.

“It’s nothing.” he said lowly.

He mentally slapped himself, and turned his eyes away again.

“And I wanted to say...your friend. The psychologist, or whatever.” Barry continued, reprimanding himself over and over again in his head to keep from mumbling. “I think...I think I’d like to meet him. Maybe it would be good. For me.”

He could almost hear Len’s smile widen.

“I’m glad you think that.” he said. “Like I told you, I only want what’s best for you. And he’s very good at what he does, and...I think he could really help you. In whatever way you need him to.”

Barry nodded slowly, shrugging again at the same time.

He’d thought a lot about it, since that morning. He’d seen psychologists and stuff before, in the foster system and later in juvie, but he never felt like they did him any good. He was kind of starting to realize that...well, they couldn’t do much for him,  _ if he didn’t cooperate. _ And he would suppose he had kind of been...bad, at that. At cooperating with them, and really listening to what they were saying. He hadn’t wanted help. He had thought he didn’t need it.

But now...he wanted help. He knew he probably needed it. Needed help to...sort things out in his head, set his thoughts straight.

“I’ll call him first thing tomorrow.” Len promised, the clapped his knees and got up. “Now, Romero’s delivers, and if we order now, we should beat the dinner rush.  _ And _ we’ll have time to decide what movie to watch, before the pizza gets here. How’s that sound?”

A wide smile filled Barry’s face.

_ That sounded fun. _

And Barry...he could use some fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy next chapter is chapter 30 and its getting close to 50k words, this is turning out a lot longer than i had planned but IM INVESTED I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS GODDAMN FIC EVEN IF IT KEEPS RIPPING MY FUCKING HEART AND SOUL OUT


	30. Chapter 30

“Here we go!”

Len opened his mouth as wide as he could. Barry weighed the gummy bear in his hand for a moment, then launched it across the space between their positions on the breakroom floor. The doctor quickly dove left, and caught the gummy bear in his mouth. He threw his hands up in victory while Barry let out an uproarious howl, smiles a mile wide.

_ “And the crowd goes crazy! _ Twenty-five to twenty-two!” Len said, hands up in victory once more. “I am the champion!”  


“Screw you!” Barry argued, without any real bite, and crumpled up an empty candy bar wrapper which he threw at his opponent. “You got a weak arm, Snart! Best outta a hundred! You gotta gimme an honest chance here.”

“No fair! We said best of fifty!” the doctor argued, throwing the wrapper right back at him. “A deal’s a deal! I want my prize!”

Barry groaned with his entire body, collapsing back to lay flat on the floor. “I was in prison for four and a half years! Isn’t that punishment  _ enough?!” _ he complained.

“You promised!” Len said.

“But really?!  _ The Notebook?!” _ Barry questioned as he maneuvered to sit up again, glaring at his friend. “I’d peg you more for the documentary kinda guy, not the sappy lovey-dovey dramas.”

Len shrugged, pouring a handful of jelly beans into his mouth. “I’m a multi-faceted person.” he said and managed to keep his speech legible even as he chewed.

“C’mon!” Barry pleaded. “At least gimme a chance. Best of a hundred?”

The doctor let out a deep sigh, but found it hard to argue with the puppy eyes Barry was giving him.

“Fine!” he relented.

_ “Yes!” _ Barry erupted gleefully, pumping a fist into the air. “Same stakes?”

“Better not cry when I crush you.” Len said, smirking.

Barry snorted at him, plastic crinkling as he dug his hand back in the bag of gummy bears. “I will weep tears of joy when I win.” he said.

At that, they both laughed, big and wide and with heads thrown back and chests heaving. It was fun. It was good fun.

*

“Fifty!” Len shouted, when Barry’s teeth clicked as he caught a green jelly bean. “And  _ that _ is how it is  _ done, _ ladies and gentlemen!”

Barry groaned.  _ But _ since he doubted Len would agree to best of two-hundred, he would have to admit defeat.

“Alright, alright, no need to gloat.” he said, but was smiling anyway.

The doctor scoffed at him. “Hey, I earned the right to gloat.” he said. “And no one likes a sore loser, Bolt.”

Barry dodged the empty bag of jelly beans Len threw at him.

_ “Fine!” _ he muttered. “You win. You grab the snacks, and I’ll clean up?”

“Okay.” Len said, heaving himself off the floor to his feet.

Plastic crinkled loudly as Barry started collecting up empty bags and wrappers. God, he could barely believe they’d eaten that much candy! He had missed candy, more than he’d ever imagined he would. There was quite a lot to be said about over-sweetened calorie bombs, and quite a lot to be missed about them; the taste of gummy bears, the consistency of jelly beans, the feeling of chocolate melting on his tongue, the crunch of fluffy wafers, and the struggle to get the last bits of caramel out of his teeth.

“See anything you like?” Len asked when Barry shuffled over to the vending machine.

Barry shoved the plastic into the trashcan beside it, then leaned in to get a closer look at the selection. Rows upon rows of deliciousness he had spent the last four and a half years literally dreaming about. How could he possibly choose?

“Or...one of everything?” Len asked, smirking.

Barry had to smile when he turned his head and saw the look Len was giving him. Wonder. Amazement, almost, if he was reading it right. Barry couldn’t say he didn’t have the same look on his face when he looked at Len. He was just so... _everything. _ But that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It certainly wasn’t, where Barry was concerned.

“Yeah.” Barry said, turning his eyes back to the rows of candy. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Len chuckled warmly and started punching in numbers, starting in the top left then moving on down the line.

It wasn’t good. Barry shouldn’t... _catch the Feelings. Get attached. _ It was just supposed to be an act, to make Len like him so Barry could use him.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid idiot. _ But, as Barry himself had said, the manipulator was always easiest to manipulate. He fucking played himself. And  _ Len _ played him, without even knowing it. Pressed every fucking button in Barry’s head.

_ Barry liked him. _

Like,  _ liked _ him.  _ For real. _

It was Mick all over again, wasn’t it? This  _ spell _ that they didn’t even know they had him under. This incomprehensible  _ something _ growing in his head, that couldn’t be rooted out or killed away no matter how hard Barry tried. He had a weakness for men he just couldn’t have, it seemed. Mick, then Len...too good for him, the both of them. But the spell, the bewitchment, the  _ infatuation _ just made it...impossible, to resist. Barry knew it was bad, it was wrong, could only end badly, and still he couldn’t resist.

Couldn’t resist Mick, couldn’t resist Len. He wanted  _ more. _ He wanted nothing  _ from _ them, but everything  _ of _ them. That was why he’d lied to Mick for so long; he’d just wanted... _more _ of him, like he was a drug. It was  _ beyond _ fucked up, and he knew it. That was why liking  _ Len _ was so  _ horrible. _

Barry would just...fuck it all up again. Lie and lie and lie, and do anything to keep him around. But he’d ruined Mick’s life like that, he  _ couldn’t _ do it to Len too. Barry hoped, for Len’s own sake, that Len didn’t feel anything like that for him, anything even remotely close to that. He hoped Len considered him nothing more than a subject. A friend, at most.

They sat on the couch in Len’s office, his laptop balanced on their thighs. 

Barry loved how close they were; loved the feeling of Len’s thigh pressed to his, under a soft blanket. It made his stomach ache, because it was  _ nice. _ It was nice, and it felt normal, and it felt real. It was so odd. Barry knew Len was attractive and smart and all that, from the moment they met. He knew he’d have to get up close and personal to get what he wanted, and somehow, without even noticing, the pretending...wasn’t pretending anymore.  _ How did he not notice it sooner? _ What an idiot he was.

Hell, Barry was so good selling his bullshit that  _ he himself _ bought it!

*

Len snored, head laying limp on Barry’s shoulder.

Barry had to smile. It was cute. The soft hums and huffs of breath, nose crinkling now and then. Barry didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay. Just  _ stay, _ forever in that moment. Before he inevitably fucked everything up, ruined everything, destroyed Len’s life like he had Mick’s. Before he could start the lies.

Couldn’t, though.  _ Shouldn’t. _ It would just trick his mind into thinking  _ this _ was possible, that it was real.

It would be for the best, if he left Len to sleep and went back to his own room.

Barry moved the laptop to the side-table. He got his hand in under Len’s head, and got a careful hold on his arm as well. He shuffled back and out from under the doctor, lowering him gently to lay down on the cushions. Barry fluffed up one of the decorative throw pillows, which he rested Len’s head on, and drew the blanket up to cover him fully.

The wall clock was ticking down to 2 AM. The alarm on the doctor’s phone would wake him as the hour became full, for another link up to the nanites in Barry’s chest. But for now, Barry though he deserved some sleep. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Len was feeling stressed. He had told Barry as much, during their games in the breakroom. Sleep, even if on an uncomfortable couch, would do him good.

Barry turned off the ceiling light, leaving the room to be bathed in the soft glow of the desk lamp. He closed the door softly behind himself as he left. The guard sitting outside the office had been replaced by another; a shift-change, no doubt. They walked to the recovery room in a quite companionable silence. Barry offered him a polite smile and a ‘goodnight’, before Barry headed to bed and the guard took up sentry duty outside the door.

Sleep would do Barry good too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i am a fuckin slut for music, i made a playlist for this piece of shit fic, and if you wanna, you can listen to it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/backinblack97/playlist/6wFkUJxfR7X34uv06erlna)


End file.
